#like i cannot answer the question 'why do you want to go on T?' without simply saying

[catharsis-in-a-bottle]

it is worth considering that the line between support for cosmetic surgeries and support for medically transitioning is fairly blurry, and it's worth interrogating where (and why) you draw the line on bodily autonomy

stop the madness no more nose jobs

[elysianightsss]

Pen Pal Price Part Two🫧🍑

nsfw ahead so I’ll cut it off at that point…reader is also described as chubby below because I am so they are too lol.

-

His voice startles you to the point where you visibly flinch, it’s nothing like how you imagined it to be. First of all, you didn’t know he was British. The accent that wraps around his words so sharply is one you recognise but can’t quite put your finger on in this moment.

His voice is deep, rumbles out somewhere from within his chest. It vibrates through the phone and through you. For him your honeyed voice drips into him like the sweetest summer wine.

“Sound so pretty.” You hear him mutter, barely a whisper but definitely something he was trying to hide. Your cheeks burn as you blush hard, your bottom lip caught between your teeth while you think of what to say to the man you’ve been writing to for weeks on end.

So many words exchanged and yet now you’re at a loss. Can’t think properly, it begs the question; how will you react when you meet in person?

“I haven’t got long, I guess now’s the time I tell you what I do for a living.” He chuckles lightly and you wish you could see his face while he does.

“Sounds intriguing.” You frown though your face is still smile stricken.

“Oh you bet it is love. Very dangerous, rough. I don’t think you’d want to hear about it.”

“Excuse me good sir, I live for danger. Did I not tell you how I dangerously painted the spare bedroom the other day? Though I don’t think it went well.” You joked looking over at the room that was half done and had paint streaks pointing in all different directions.

“Are you doubting your mad painting skills?” Your heart soared at the joke, at his laugh, just all of this. Being able to speak to him properly, being able to communicate more easily without waiting a whole week for his response to arrive by post. Shifting through the mail everyday desperate to read his words. You hadn’t felt this happy in years.

“Maybe just a little.” There’s a pause, and you think you hear some background chatter, something about unit leaving and someone definitely says captain, “maybe you could help me?”

“I definitely will.” He doesn’t hesitate with his answer, it’s so sure and so final. It says a lot about him. You’re desperate to know more. “I’m sorry love, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you tomorrow? Same time?”

And he does, you lunge for the phone practically jumping through the air to answer him. You chat about useless things, have silly little conversations about everyday life. There are days when you think it’s his day off work, those days he stays on the phone to you for hours. Those days are your favourite.

He tells you about the new book he got and even reads you a few chapters while you cook dinner, he makes you promise to cook him a meal sometime. You don’t hesitate to agree.

Again he loves the domesticity of it all, how prefect you are in his eyes, though his ocean blues haven’t actually seen you yet. What a perfect little wife you would make. He knows it’s far too soon to think about things like that but he cannot help himself.

The way you fly away with yourself, talking about what you’re doing that day or joking about something you saw on tv or giggling about the cupcakes you were making because the icing went wrong making what you piped look like pigs instead of the unicorns you were going for, for you niece’s birthday party.

He listens with his eyes closed, dreaming of the day he comes back from deployment. The day he comes back to you, to home smelling of freshly baked goods. His pretty lady waiting for him all smiles and giggles. He wishes.

“Um..” you pause unsure, wondering what if he says no.

“What is it love?” He asks so worried. So ready to fix any problem you throw his why. Once again though you hesitate and once more he encourages you, “Come on pretty lady, tell me. What’s up?” You let the nickname you’ve reprimanded him about numerous times slide with what you’re about to ask.

“D-Did you want t-to video call?” He grins at how fucking adorable you are. The way you stutter just asking a simple question like that. He bites back a groan at the way he stiffens in his trousers. Dirty old man.

“I would love to.” He of course then had to explain he had a flip phone. You laughed hard at him and said he would need a smartphone. You had no idea he would go and buy one just to video call you with. Another thing you reprimand him for, spending his hard earned money so easily like that. His little lady nagging him, and all he does is smile at the sound. He loves it.

Your heart hammers in your chest as the phone rings. A lot like the first time he called you. You had talked him through the set up and helped him understand what an app is and how to call on text on a smart phone. And finally, you told him how to video call. Which app to press, you were just explaining how it works when your phone begins to buzz with ‘John💕 is FaceTime you’ popping up on the screen. Your number of course being the first one he added.

You can’t help but feel nervous, checking you look semi okay on the screen before pressing the green answer button. Then your breath is knocked out of you so hard you actually choke, John fussing about getting some water and breathing for him goes in one ear and out the other. You can’t look away from him even as you catch your breath.

He’s nothing like you pictured and yet he’s perfect.

He looks like the kind of man you picture when you read romance novels and the kind of man that sneaks into the dreams that have you waking up hot under the collar and panties sticking to you uncomfortably. The little description of himself you asked for certainly did not do him justice.

“Hi love.”

“Hi John.”

“Fuck you’re gorgeous.” Even though you frown, you can’t stop a smile from splitting your face.

You’ve got chubbier cheeks and thicker thighs than most girls, something you’re insecure about and john can tell. But fuck you look gorgeous to him. Over the next few weeks John catches on to just how badly you feel about your body image, the way you put yourself down in favour of supermodels, the way you wear oversized clothing to cover yourself up. He finds himself grumbling, hating it each second more than the last.

He understands how badly beauty culture has fucked over women who are genuinely beautiful but are made to feel like they’re nothing. He gets it, he does. But he certainly doesn’t agree. Especially not with you. He finds himself dreaming of those squishable cheeks of yours, the way you’re so soft around the edges, he can tell.

You completely did him in last Monday, it’s the middle of winter for goodness sake, how did he know that you’d be wearing shorts when he FaceTimed you. Gym shorts that hugged your plump ass so fucking perfectly, that flashed your thick thighs to him. Christ, he’s been thinking about those pretty thighs all week long. When he’s running drills, your thighs are on his mind. When he’s planning out a mission with his unit, your thighs are on his mind. And when he’s alone at night with his hand wrapped around his swollen cock, your thighs are on his mind.

He can’t stand it anymore, it’s been agonising with how busy he’s been not calling you, not seeing you or hearing your voice. No knowing what you’ve been up to or how your day has gone. He calls and he praises the Lord above for bringing you to him, when you answer. A prayer on his lips, a beg for you to become his wife one day when you’re there smiling in the cutest silk pyjama set he’s ever seen. It hugs you exquisitely, showing off your rounded edges and all John can think about is how he can’t wait to sink his teeth into the soft flesh of your tummy.

You’re clearly fresh out the shower or bath with your damp hair and freshly wash face, but John’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life, in fact he tells you so. You haven’t felt your cheeks burn the way they did then, well maybe one other occasion.

“Love?”

“Yes John?”

“Would you like to meet me for coffee tomorrow? At that cafe you like?” He’s hopeful when he asks, you can not only hear it in his voice but see it in his face. “I’m in the area for work and have a few days where I’m free and I’d love to see you.”

You can’t recall a time in your life where all you did was smile, but since you found John, you don’t remember what not smiling all the time was like. You don’t remember anything other than how happy he makes you. So you take a breath, you muster up the courage and say yes.

“I’d love to see you too John. Just tell me what time and I’ll be there.”

[cjlouwho]

The Things I Cannot Change

I made this post a couple days ago then had to write a fic about it. Enjoy! Read below or on ao3.

“Wait a minute, you're datin' Kinard?” Gerrard asked mid-swing. He had taken Buck out to Topgolf as a thank you for saving his life. Although, Buck still wasn't sure that was actually his intention at the time.

“Yes, Sir,” Buck replied, steeling himself for whatever was going to come out of the man's mouth next.

“He got a sister or something?”

“No, Sir.”

“Didn't think so.” Gerrard planted his feet and swung, unsatisfied by where the ball landed. “So you're a... one of those?”

“Bisexual, yes.”

He rocked back on his heels. “Oh, you swing both ways? Interesting, interesting. You didn't hear about all that back in my day, Buckley. The world has definitely changed.”

“We've always existed,” Buck replied, a part of him wondering why he didn't shove Gerrard to the ground just a little bit harder.

They each took another turn before Gerrard spoke again. “Kinard,” he said, contemplatively. “Gotta say, don't see you two matching.”

Buck closed his eyes, inhaling deeply before turning to Gerrard. “Why's that?”

“Don't get me wrong, Buck, he was a great firefighter when he worked under me. Dotted his I's, crossed his T's. But he wasn't always that way. There's a lot about him...” He shook his head. “Hm. What am I saying, I'm sure you know everything about him anyway, right?”

“Y- yeah,” Buck replied. He knew Gerrard's mind games. Knew better than to fall for it. At least, that's what he kept telling himself.

He walked over to his golf carrier, straightening the firefighter club cover.

“That Operation Thunderbolt was something else, wasn't it?” Gerrard asked.

It took everything in Buck's power to not start asking questions. “Mhm.”

“Mistakes like that can't happen in the firefighting world. Told Kinard as much when he started. Damn, he was a mess back then.” Gerrard let out a laugh. “I whipped him into shape real good. Made him who he is.”

“Mm, yeah. I- I'm sure.”

“That Thunderbolt though,” Gerrard sucked in a breath. “Not good, Buckley. Not good.”

*****

“I think Gerrard is still playing mind games with me,” Buck said to Eddie as he plopped down on the couch. It was a rare shift they had without Gerrard, meaning they could actually sit down and relax.

“Of course he is,” Eddie replied, not bothering to look up from the magazine he was reading. “He took you golfing, Buck. And to lunch, twice.”

“Yeah, but it's more than that now. He, uh, he found out I'm dating Tommy.”

Eddie peered over his magazine at that, eying Buck closely. “He found out? How'd that happen?”

“I... kinda told him.”

“And you think that was a wise decision?”

Buck sat up straighter. “It was the only decision, Eddie. He asked if I was seeing anyone. I- I wasn't gonna lie and say no, or- or make it seem like I was seeing a woman just to make him-”

Eddie raised a hand to stop him. “Buck, not judging. Just asking.”

“Right, well,” he settled into the couch again, clearing his throat. “He knows now.”

“And?”

“And he said he didn't see us matching.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Big surprise there. You can't let him bother you, Buck. Gotta let that stuff roll right off ya.”

“Yeah, I- I did. But, he just... Do you think I know everything about Tommy?”

“I don't know,” Eddie answered, confused. “I'm not a fly on your wall, Buck, I don't know what you two talk about.”

“But, generally speaking, do you think I know him? Because, he knows all my stuff. Like, Daniel, and my parents, and the way I acted when I was younger to get attention. He knows all the different versions of Buck, ya know? And I just, I don't know if I know all his versions.”

“I don't think you ever really stop getting to know someone, Buck. You might think he knows all about you, but I'm sure you surprise him every day.”

Buck sighed. “I'm talking the big stuff, Eddie, not whether or not I enjoy whipped cream being licked off me-”

“Okay, no.”

“Eddie.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh. “I don't know what you want from me, Man. What are you trying to get at?”

“Gerrard mentioned something to me about Tommy that I've never heard of, and I have no idea if he's is lying or not.”

“If it's about Tommy, I'd say he's probably making something out to be worse than it is. Gerrard doesn't seem to fond of the guy.”

Buck nodded. “Yeah. No, no, yeah, I- I agree.”

“So, all good now?”

“Mhm. Yeah, all good. It was stupid anyway.” He grabbed a book from the coffee table, flipping to a random page. “Something about Tommy's time in the army. Operation Thunderbolt,” he shrugged. “I'm sure it's nothing.”

He wasn't sure what made him look up. He hadn't expected Eddie to respond anyway. But when he did glance over at him, he saw Eddie with his eyes practically frozen as he stared at a spot on the wall. Buck knew that look.

Avoidance.

“Eddie?”

Buck's voice seemed to break him out of his trance. He returned to his magazine, eyebrows furrowed. He clearly wasn't reading the article in front of him.

“Eddie?” Buck repeated, louder this time. “Do... Do you know something?”

There were a few more seconds of silence, Eddie's lips pursed as he tried to think of what to say. “I... Buck, it's not really my place.”

Now Buck was worried. “So it's true? There was an Operation Thunderbolt?”

“Buck, I'm not gonna do this,” Eddie said as he stood. He dropped his magazine down on the coffee table and went to walk away. “You need to leave it alone.”

Buck followed him. “Hey, I was your friend first,” he said. And yeah, maybe that was childish, but he couldn't find it in him to care.

Eddie swirled around, nearly knocking into Buck. “That's not fair, and it's not gonna work. If it's gonna bother you so much, talk to Tommy yourself. But I'm warning you, you need to leave it alone.”

When Eddie walked away, Buck didn't follow.

He trusted Eddie. Knew there had to be a good reason he wouldn't get into it.

He'd do what Eddie said.

He'd let it go.

He would.

He would really try to let it go.

*****

He couldn't let it go.

He headed to Tommy's place after work. Tommy had been promising to make his infamous chicken pot pie, the one everyone at the 217 was obsessed with, and tonight was the night.

The food was in the oven, and they were on the couch. Some show was playing on the TV, but it was mainly on for background noise while they made out.

It was kind of a tradition of theirs. Kiss while dinner cooked and then pick up where they left off after they were done eating.

But this time was different, because the words Operation Thunderbolt kept flashing through Buck's mind. Gerrard's voice telling Buck he was sure they knew everything about each other. Eddie's face when he brought up the operation. How closed off he became, how he avoided Buck for the rest of the day.

“Okay,” Tommy said, pulling away. “What's wrong?”

Buck tried to look dumbfounded. “What do you mean?”

“I did that thing with my tongue that always makes you jump in my lap and you didn't even react. What's wrong?”

Buck shook his head, straightening out his shirt. “N- Nothing. I just... I think I'm tired from work is all.”

Tommy tilted his head. “Evan.”

“It's nothing, really. Let's just,” Buck tugged at Tommy's shirt, trying to bring him in for another kiss, “let's keep going. I'll react this time.”

As Buck attempted to pull Tommy closer, Tommy leaned his head back and wrapped his hands around Buck's wrists, stopping him. “Evan, come on. Be honest with me.”

And those were quite possibly the worst set of words Tommy could have chosen, because it took Buck from worried to angry in under a second.

“Honest?” He practically jerked his hands away from Tommy. “You want me to be honest with you?”

“It is the best policy.”

Buck scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Of course you'd think this is a joke.”

“Evan, I'm not really sure what this is at all. I'd love it if you could fill me in though.”

“It's... It's,” Buck stood, hands on his hips, “It's a lot of things, Tommy.”

“Starting with...?”

“I went golfing with Gerrard a couple days ago.”

Tommy nodded. “I remember. You didn't talk much about it though. Did something happen?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it did.”

“Okay. What was it?”

“Doesn't matter,” Buck replied, beginning to pace back and forth. Just a few steps in one direction before turning back around.

“Obviously it does.”

“Eddie told me to let it go.”

“That doesn't seem to be happening. Come on, Evan.” Tommy stood, grasping onto Buck's arm to stop his pacing. “I'm serious. Talk to me.”

Buck stared him down. Looked deep into his eyes like he was trying to get direct access to his soul.

“Operation Thunderbolt.”

He'd never seen two words cause such an instant and dramatic shift in a person before. All the color drained from Tommy's face. His expression fell to nothing, mouth slightly open in shock. He looked like he was about to vomit, or pass out one.

A part of Buck wished he would have left it alone. Never let the words leave his mouth and dropped it like Eddie said.

The other part of Buck was still angry, and wanted to keep pushing his buttons. Wanted to find out why Eddie got to know parts of Tommy that Buck didn't get to know.

Tommy took a couple steps back, until his shins hit the couch and he could sit down again.

“E- Evan, I-”

“You know, I'm not even pissed that I don't know what the hell those words even mean. I'm pissed because I'm apparently the only one who doesn't know.”

Tommy's hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms. He stared straight ahead, unable to even look in Buck's direction. “I really... I can't talk about this right now, Evan.”

“You mean you can't talk about it with me. Apparently you can yack it up with Gerrard and Eddie.”

Tommy unclenched his fists, resting them over his bouncing knees. “Gerrard knows about that because it's why I was discharged from the army. It was on my record and he talked to me about it when I first started at the 118.”

Buck crossed his arms over his chest. “And Eddie?”

The question came out accusatory. He hated that Eddie knew a part of Tommy that he didn't.

“Eddie was in the army.” Tommy finally managed to look up at Buck. His eyes were red-rimmed, filled with an emotion Buck had never seen from the man before. “He understands it.”

“And I don't?”

“No,” Tommy replied honestly. “No, you don't, Evan. And I'm really glad you don't.”

“I've told you everything about me, Tommy! All the bad stuff, all the embarrassing stuff! I thought you'd done the same, but apparently I'm the only one really in this relationship.”

Tommy's eyes darkened. He stood back up, chest heaving. “Do not try and compare stealing fire engines for sex to what I did.”

“I don't even know what you did, Tommy!” Buck exclaimed, throwing his arms up in frustration. “Did you fly to the wrong place? Disobey orders? Get a slap on the wrist from a commanding officer? Someone find out you were-”

“I killed an entire family!” Tommy yelled, causing Buck to jump back ever so slightly. He'd never heard Tommy raise his voice before.

“Wh- What?”

“Thunderbolt was a codename for an operation in Iraq. We were supposed to take out a terrorist cell,” Tommy explained, speaking quickly. “Target was confirmed so I fired. Not even a second later I hear abort, abort, abort in my headset, but it was already too late. Intel was bad, I ended up directing a missile to an innocent family. Grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, and ten kids. I killed an entire bloodline, Evan.”

“T- Tommy-”

“They're just heat signatures on a monitor, Kinard, nothing more. That's what my commanding officer told me. But I couldn't let it go. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, I was a mess. They gave me an honorable discharge and a damn medal for killing those people.”

“I didn't-”

“Sometimes I think about it too much,” Tommy continued, ignoring Buck's interruptions. “One day Eddie was coming over for Muay Thai and I could barely get myself up off the couch. He knew something was wrong and we started talking. I don't have many friends, Evan, and Eddie is the first I've had that was in the army. It's easy to talk to him about this stuff because I don't feel like I have to explain myself over and over again or worry that he's going to think I'm a monster.”

“I don't think you're a monster.” Buck's voice was small. He felt like he was two feet tall.

“I can tell when a person looks at me differently, Evan. Saw it the second I told you.”

“Yeah, because I was surprised! It's a lot to throw on a person!”

“I didn't want to throw it on you! I was gonna tell you eventually, but I didn't feel ready yet. Didn't know how to explain it to you.” Tommy stood, his nervous energy taking over. He walked past Buck and headed for the door. “I can't do this right now. I need to go.”

“This is your house, Tommy. I'll go.”

“No, I need to get out.” He grabbed his coat and his keys. “Can you turn off the oven for me, please?”

“Tommy, come on, please don't leave mad. I'm sorry, okay?”

Tommy paused, the door half open. “Not mad, Evan. You definitely don't need to apologize to me. I just... I can't. You have a key. Lock up when you leave.”

*****

Buck gave Tommy twenty-four hours before sending a text.

Can I come over to talk please?

He waited thirty minutes before trying again.

Tommy, I don't think you're a monster, and I'd like to apologize to you in person. I know I threw that on you and I shouldn't have.

Still nothing.

So, he tried calling. It rang seven times before it went to voicemail.

“Tommy, I just wanna talk. I- I know I probably deserve the silent treatment but... I just wanna talk. Call me back, please.”

Buck was not known for his patience. It took everything within him to not get in his car and drive to Tommy's place right then and there.

But he didn't want to smother Tommy, at least not more than he already had. He waited an hour, then started getting ready for bed. He had to be at work early tomorrow, and if Tommy wasn't ready to talk yet, he'd respect that.

It was the least he could do.

When he woke up for work the next day and had no missed messages or calls from Tommy, he worried.

He had half expected to hear something from him during the night.

When he got to work, he made a beeline for Eddie, who was putting some things into his locker.

“Eddie, have you heard from Tommy in the past couple days?”

“Good morning to you too, Buck. My time off was great, thanks for asking.”

“Come on, I'm serious. Have you heard from him?”

Eddie closed his locker door and turned to Buck. “I thought you were spending your time off with him?”

“We had a... a thing.”

“A thing?”

“A fight,” Buck clarified. “Sort of. A fight-ish.”

“A... A fight-ish? Would this fight-ish have to do with Gerrard and a certain military operation?”

Buck shrugged. “Maybe. Possibly you too.”

“Me?!” Eddie exclaimed. “Why me?”

“Listen, I got a little angry over the fact you seem to know Tommy better than I do and I may have expressed as much, okay? And yes, I mentioned the operation, and kind of forced him into explaining, which may have sent him spiraling. He said he wasn't mad, but he has a way of saying that instead of letting me apologize for things and now he won't answer me and I'm afraid he's actually mad or-”

“Breathe,” Eddie interrupted, patting Buck on the shoulder. “I haven't heard from him. Honestly, though, if he told you about Thunderbolt, he's probably not doing great right now.”

Buck flopped down onto one of the benches, his legs stretching out in front of him. “I really screwed up, Eddie.”

“I'm the king of screw ups, Man,” Eddie replied, sitting beside him. “You haven't done anything that can't be fixed. For what it's worth, he was always planning on telling you. It's just a tough one for him to talk about without spiraling.”

Buck glared over at him. “You're really not helping.”

“You've got a twelve today too, right?”

Buck nodded.

“I'll text him, see if he answers. You head over after work. It'll work out. Don't worry.”

*****

Worry was all Buck did the entire day. Especially after Eddie sent his third text and got no response. Even he thought it was strange, which made Buck worry even more.

He couldn't get to Tommy's fast enough after his shift. He hurried over, not hesitating to use his key to get inside.

“Tommy?” he called out apprehensively. “Are you here?”

He knew Tommy had to be there. His car was in the driveway and he always left his door unlocked when he went for a run, much to Buck's dismay.

He headed for the living room first, then the kitchen.

“Tommy?” he called again before heading to the bedroom.

No lights were on in the house, and the sun had nearly set, making it difficult to see. When he pushed open the cracked bedroom door, he could barely see the outline of Tommy lying in bed, covers pulled up to his neck. His blackout curtains were drawn, making the room nearly pitch black.

Buck entered the room cautiously. “Tommy, y- you awake?”

“Mmm,” he grunted. “Yeah.”

“I've been worried,” he said, toeing off his shoes before crawling onto the bed. “I tried calling and texting. Eddie did too.”

“Haven't been by my phone,” Tommy mumbled into his pillow.

Buck settled into his usual side of the bed, keeping some space between them. “Is this... Is this about our fight? I really am sorry for pushing you, Tommy.”

“Not mad,” he replied, managing to roll over and curl into Buck's side. “Told you I wasn't mad yesterday.”

“It... It's been two days, Babe.”

He rested a hand over Buck's stomach, gripping the material of his shirt. “Oh. Really?”

“Yeah.” Buck wrapped an arm around Tommy's back, letting his nails scratch up and down his spine. “I- Tommy, what's going on?”

“Tired.” He nestled his head further into Buck's waist. “Brain was thinking too much.”

“Oh.” Buck didn't know what to say. Didn't know the right words to make him feel better. He'd never seen Tommy like this before. It made him feel overwhelmed, and sad, and a little bit terrified. “You wanna talk about it?”

Tommy gripped even tighter. He was silent for a moment, breathing against Buck's body before he spoke quietly. “I killed people, Evan.”

God, Buck wanted to cry. “I- I know.”

“A whole family. Kids. I did that.”

“You didn't know, Tommy. It's not your fault.”

“That doesn't matter to them. They don't get to have a life because of me.”

Buck wanted to hold onto Tommy tighter, pull him all the way into his arms and hold him until the pain would go away.

But Tommy withdrew before Buck could even get his other arm around him. He turned back onto his other side, pulling the covers up until just his eyes and nose stuck out from under them. “I'm just tired, Hon. I'll be okay.”

*****

The next thing Tommy knew, he was being shook awake. The room was still dark, and he was pretty sure not much time had passed. “What? What time's it?”

“A little after eight,” Buck whispered, giving his shoulder another shake. “Get up, please.”

Tommy sighed. “Why? M'tired.”

“Because you have company.”

“I do?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed. “Can you tell them to leave, Evan?”

“No. Get up.”

Tommy groaned, but forced himself to get out of bed. He took the hand Buck had held out for him, and let himself be led to the living room.

“Hey,” Eddie said from his spot on the couch. “You look like crap.”

“Eddie?” Tommy glanced back and forth between him and Buck. “What are you doing here?”

“Your boyfriend here called me and said you could use a friend.”

Buck gave Tommy's hand a squeeze to get his attention. “You're right,” he said. “I don't know the right thing to do or say to make you feel better. But I think he can.”

“Evan, I-”

Buck brought a hand to Tommy's face, brushing a thumb over his cheek. He leaned in and gave him a peck on the lips. “I love you, Tommy, okay? All of you.”

“I don't know what to say, Evan.”

“Say pizza's on the way,” Eddie interrupted. “I'm starving.”

Buck laughed, rolling his eyes as he turned back to Eddie. “Pizza is on the way. I'm gonna head out to the gym for a couple hours.”

He went to let go of Tommy's hand, but Tommy pulled him back in for a hug. “Come back after?” he asked, his mouth brushing against Buck's ear.

Buck nodded. “Of course.”

“Okay.” Tommy pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Evan. I love you.”

Buck smiled, giving Tommy's hand a final squeeze before letting go. “See you two later. Save me a piece of pizza.”

“We'll see!” Eddie yelled out as Buck headed out the front door. He nodded at Tommy, who was still standing in the middle of the living room. “So, you ready to talk?”

Tommy only briefly hesitated before he walked over and sat on the opposite end of the couch, curling his knees up to his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, let's talk.”

[torakowalski]

(part one | part seven)

"Yes," says Eddie when Steve cups his face with one strong hand.

He says, "Yes," when Steve kisses him too. Says, "Yes," again, when Steve slides his free hand into Eddie's armpit and pulls him up onto the bed.

They land with a bounce, Eddie half under Steve. He looks at Steve, gorgeous and pink-cheeked, braced above him, lips still slightly parted, and says, "Wait."

Shit, he is not a fan of himself, right now.

Steve waits. He leans back a little, looking like he's bracing himself for whatever Eddie's about to say.

"What's happening?" Eddie asks. "Don't say kissing."

Steve pouts like Eddie is robbing him of all his simple pleasures. "I, uh, I mean I'm not totally sure." He bites his lip. "I wanted to kiss you, so I did."

Okay, Eddie is calm. Eddie is calm about Steve wanting to kiss him.

"Weird reaction to making the team?" he guesses.

Steve scrunches up his face, like he's thinking about it. "I don't think so. I wanted to kiss you before I made the team."

"You... did?"

Steve is still very much hovering above Eddie. It seems like he might not have noticed that he's basically doing a plank while having this conversation. Stupid swimmer's arms. His t-shirt is hanging down, away from his stomach, and Eddie desperately wants to touch his bare skin. He bets he's really, really warm there.

"How long before?" Eddie adds, without giving Steve time to answer the first question.

"Since you cheered for me," Steve says, which doesn't narrow it down at all, until it does. "I fucked up my first couple of races, but then I saw you yelling for me from the stands, and I thought I can't wait to kiss him for that, later. Took me an extra couple seconds to realise that we don't kiss, and then I couldn't think of a good reason why not."

That was maybe two hours ago, and that's only if Eddie is feeling generous with time.

"Steve, you can't just..."

"I know," Steve interrupts. "I know I'm supposed to take time to freak out and panic and think about what this _means_ and worry about all the things that Robin worries about, but I'm just... You know me, I do things, I don't think about them first. I really don't feel any need to think about this, either."

He looks down at Eddie with his big, dark eyes all genuine and sincere. And yup. Yup Eddie is going to get his heartbroken so very badly.

Eddie shakes his head at himself and his own stupid decision making. "A good person would say you need to take your time and not rush into this." Steve looks genuinely disappointed, which Eddie cannot stand. "I, however, am the son of Satan, remember?"

"Oh, shucks, I thought you were just a Satan worshipper," Steve says. "I didn't realise you were like, Hell Jesus. You should have said something."

Eddie snorts a laugh. It's kind of gross honestly, but Steve just smirks. Fucker.

"Put that face to better use and kiss me," Eddie orders. He's glad he sounds confident because he does not feel it.

Steve's smirk because a smile, all sunny and surprised. "Yeah?"

"Just until you come to your senses." Eddie reaches up, puts his hand on the back of Steve's neck. His hair is damp against Eddie's palm and his skin is smooth and hot.

"That's gonna be a while, I think," says Steve. He lowers himself down onto his elbows so their chests are barely a breath apart, presses a kiss to Eddie's mouth.

It's not Eddie's first kiss or anything, but it's definitely within his first... three kisses. He hopes like hell he's doing it right. At first, it's closed mouths, lips moving gently together but then Eddie feels a burst of total daring and parts his lips. Steve hums happily and dips the tip of his tongue into Eddie's mouth.

Fuck, holy fuck, this is really happening. Eddie can taste Steve's spit. That never happens in his dreams.

He hears himself make a noise and his hand clenches, squeezing the nape of Steve's neck. He squirms a little, gets his other arm around Steve's back, hand flat just above the waistband of his pants.

Steve makes a very happy hum, licks into Eddie's mouth, and then they're definitely not just kissing; this is definitely making out.

Eddie's hard in seconds, but this isn't the time, so he's gonna ignore that. It's more difficult to ignore how fast his nipples go tight, aching with it until all he can do is pull Steve down, press up into him, until they're chest to chest.

He wishes their shirts would melt away. He wants Steve's skin against his own. Preferably, he wants all of Steve's thick, ridiculous chest hair for this half-hour of madness, but he'll take the smooth, waxed version too.

"Ed," Steve says into his mouth. His fingers have knotted in Eddie's hair. "Eddie, can we lose our shirts?"

"Are you an actual mind reader?" asks Eddie, which just makes Steve laugh.

Steve sits up, grabs the back of his t-shirt, and is just above to pull it over his head when the room phone rings.

They both freeze.

"Fuck. Dinner," Steve says, eyes wide. Eddie hadn't realised he'd forgotten about it; that's pretty gratifying.

Eddie grabs the phone, since it seems the gentlemanly thing to do.

"Where are you?" Dustin whines. "We're starving."

"Eat bread sticks," Eddie tells him, watching sadly as Steve lets his t-shirt settle back down around his body.

"We've eaten them all," Dustin says. "What are you even doing? You've been ages."

Eddie flops backwards onto the bed. He knew making out with Steve wasn't going to last, but he thinks the universe could have let him have a little more time with it.

"Team USA here has to do his hair all pretty," he lies, sending Steve an apologetic look.

Steve rolls his eyes.

Judging by the noise Dustin makes, he does the same.

"Well, tell him to hurry up. Your uncle just called Ma 'ma'am,' and she giggled. I need back-up."

Huh. Go Uncle Wayne. "We're hurrying," he promises. "Order without us and we'll be there stat."

"I'm ordering the steak," Dustin says, like he thinks Eddie is the one paying and hangs up.

Steve has moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He gives Eddie a wonky smile. "We really should get ready to go."

Eddie rubs his hands over his face and doesn't let himself think about whether Steve sounds regretful. (He really does think Steve might sound regretful.)

"Yeah. Apparently my uncle is flirting with Mrs Henderson, and Dustin's at risk of both a stroke and starvation."

"God forbid he reacts to something calmly," Steve says, a smile still in his voice. "I'll go shower."

He stands up. Then he sits down again. He reaches out and curls his long fingers around Eddie's wrist. "I haven't come to my senses yet."

"Hm?" Eddie asks.

"You said, you said you'd kiss me until I came to my senses. I still feel totally senseless, so maybe we could kiss more after dinner?"

Fuck. How is Eddie supposed to eat now? Or hold a conversation like a normal person.

"Um," he says. "I, uh. I did say that, and I never go back on my word."

Steve squeezes Eddie's wrist then briefly tangles their fingers together. "Wanna shower together?"

He bounces his eyebrows, so Eddie doesn't think he's serious. It makes him want to say yes just to see what Steve would do. Except he knows what Steve would do, he'd go through with it, and neither of them are ready for that.

"Not on our first date," he says. "Hit me up when you've got a gold medal, and we'll see."

"Maybe I'll hold you to that," Steve says. He gets up and heads off to the shower, whistling as he goes.

(continued here)

[undercovercameron]

sunspent

summary: you're relaxed and calm in the obx summer heat, and rafe simply cannot have that.

notes: filthy filthy filthy! sorry not sorry bout it. also minor obx 3 spoilers; ie his parents are on that damn island and its just him in their big ole house. semi public sex kink and def a choking kink beware or be scared! i truly cannot write anything without that damn hand around reader's throat.. that's my b. enjoy! also thank you so much for all the love on my fics and the followers... so excited for all i will write in the future and so incredibly full of love from you guys <3

tags: rafe cameron x fem!reader

word count: 2542

The whole day had been perfect. 

You woke up around 9:30, brushed your teeth, and went downstairs to have some oatmeal. By 10:30 you were in a bikini and setting out a towel on the back deck. 

The sun was fairly hot, but the early warnings of a storm gave a cooler breeze. Your towel was in the perfect spot between the shade where you could get full sun coverage without moving too much. 

Gentle music was playing from your speaker, something that sounded like what your mom listened to in highschool, and a couple vodka seltzers laid unopened in a small cooler for you to enjoy later. You were also halfway through a mystery book, and between the pages of every chapter you let the time drift away from you. 

The most relaxing part of the start of your day? Rafe had left the house around 9 and had yet to return by the time you cracked open your seltzer at 1 o’clock. No ranting, no typical Rafe-isms— just sunshine and Paula Abdul. You wished he was able to do this with you. 

It was so relaxing that you drifted off to sleep a little more than halfway through your drink, head resting on your folded arms. 

“Y/N.” Something rigid and distinctly shoe-like nudges your arm. “Baby.”

You just groan and turn over onto your back, arms following to protect your eyes from the sunlight. 

“Hi,” you croak, squinting, and peer up at him. He looks like the Statue of Liberty in this light— if the statue of liberty wore light wash jeans and slutty little beer brand t-shirts. (So on brand for him.)

“How long have you been out here?” He asks, bending to pick up what’s left of your seltzer for one final swig. 

“Since like 10:45.” Your face breaks in a yawn and your arms fall to the deck as your eyes get used to the light. A smile creeps onto your face. “What’ve you been doing?” You sit up on your hands, scanning his body. He looks kinda sweaty. 

“Um,” he starts, scratching at his forehead with a sigh. “Buncha shit. Went into a couple places to close Ward’s accounts with them—oh, I saw your mom at Cold Stone by the way.”

“Why were you at Cold Stone?” You grin, crossing your legs and pushing at his calf with your foot. He makes an innocent face, hands on his hips. He looks to the trees, playfully exasperated.

“Sometimes I need a milkshake, Y/N. What kind of question is that?” You snort. “Anyway— I think we should go out for dinner. It’s getting to be—shit, it’s almost 4.”

You’re silent, save for some puny, whiny noise you make at the mention of going out. You struggle to get up, a little wobbly on your feet, but Rafe catches you and hauls you up with a hand on your waist. 

“What?” He brushes the wispy hairs out of your face. “You don’t want to go out?” He searches your face, blue eyes squinting down at you, and you just pout. In the most mature way a 20-something can when faced with leaving her very rich boyfriend’s very nice house who has asked her to stay with him graciously for the very near future while his parents are retired on some island in the middle of the ocean. 

You curl a finger around the collar of his t-shirt, playing with it while you formulate an answer. 

“Where would we go?” Is what you settle on, ever the people pleaser. 

“I don’t know…” Rafe thinks, gaze drifting from you as he chews at his lip. You wind your arms around his shoulders, hands splayed across his wingspan. You pet the skin of his neck with your thumb, warm all over. You’re content just looking at him forever. 

“What if I’m hungry now?” You ask, ever so innocently, and Rafe thinks you’re serious until he catches the look on your face. 

“That right?” He grins, hand sliding down your back. He grabs at your ass and you squeak. “How hungry? Wait until after dinner?” He’s just teasing you honestly; it’s almost a hobby to see how desperate you get for him. 

“Rafe.” You pinch his shoulder. “That’s not funny.”

He just hums noncommittally, and dips to press a kiss to your neck. You shift up onto your tiptoes, wanting to be closer, and he hikes one of your legs up onto his hip. You can’t help the noise you make. 

“Rafe,” you breathe, grabbing at him. “We have to go inside.” He bows forward, dangling you towards the wood of the deck, and you just hold tighter onto his shoulders. 

“Why?” He murmurs, lost in your taste, and presses a kiss to your mouth that makes you shiver. “I don’t see why we have to.” He falls into a kneel, bringing you with him, and you suck in a surprised gasp. “Nobody’s around.”

“Somebody could be, baby,” you say, chancing a look around, and huff out a sigh when he lays you onto your back. This man. 

“I don’t care,” he says, shrugging his shoulders with not a care in the world before following you down. 

This bikini might be his favorite. He likes anything that will leave as little to the imagination as possible, but this one is his favorite shade of blue. Almost matches his eyes. 

Your warm skin feels like silk on him, and when you wriggle when he presses a hand to your inner thigh, his dick jumps. 

“Relax, Y/N,” he breathes. You roll your eyes. 

“How can I, Rafe? You’re so—aggravating.” You huff. He’s still wearing his shirt, too. You tug at the sleeves of it. 

“Oh, yeah?” He cocks his head, lips pursed. You just nod, pulling again at the fabric of his shirt. “Why’re you so wet, then?” He fumbles with the buckle of his jeans and your eyes lock on it.  

“I’m not.” You look back up at him, self-assured to a fault, and try to will the dampness between your legs away. He just stares down at you, unimpressed. “I-I’m not.” Your thighs close. 

“That right?” He murmurs, and wrestles your legs open again with an arm. His fingertips brush the crotch of your bottoms and you jolt, breathing hard out your nose. He lifts your hips and pulls them clean off, tossing them to the side. 

He’s silent then, gaze locked between your legs, and he carefully guides your legs back until you can grab them by the back of your thighs and keep them out of his way. 

“Not wet, my ass,” he murmurs to himself. His thumb rubs at your clit, and your sigh of pleasure ends in an impatient whine. He spits. “This pussy—,” he starts, but can’t finish. 

He just bows and gets his mouth on you like he’s been thinking about since he left the house. Your head slams back against the deck almost immediately. 

His large palm flattens to the back of your thigh and pushes your leg even further. The muscle strains but you can handle it. 

“Fuck, Rafe,” you cry out, eyes squeezing shut as his tongue pushes hard through your folds. You’re really fucking wet. You wonder briefly if it’s because of how hot it was today, then cast that out of your mind completely when you hear Rafe groan. Your body vibrates with it. 

His hands suddenly drag you by your hips, closer to his face, and he hums again. 

“Taste so fucking good,” he muses, spitting at you, and glances up at your face. You can barely keep your mouth closed like this. “Brat, lying to me.”

You whine, every second of him talking taking his mouth away from where it so desperately needs to be absolute torture, but settle when his thumb begins tracing circles into your clit. 

“Fuck me,” you breathe, back arching and leg muscles straining, and Rafe just laughs into your cunt. 

“I will,” he murmurs, and you would roll your eyes if you could— but he pushes two fingers into you. His thumb spurs back into motion as you sing, throat already sore. He knows exactly where and when to curl his fingers, and you let him know right there is where they need to be. 

“There you go.” He spits a third time, watching it mix with your slick. “Squeezing me so tight, honey,” he assures you, smoothing a hand down your thigh. If you could find words you’d agree. 

You manage a “yes, shit,” before you go mute and your eyes roll back into your head. You squeeze around him like a vice, your legs flooding with warmth, and he fingers you through your orgasm. He can’t pull himself away when you get like this— you’re so soft and warm and perfect that he genuinely wonders if he could ever fuck someone else again. He knows the answer is no. 

Your abdominal muscles spasm and jolt as you come down, neck straining to look at where his fingers give you a final stroke and find their way to his mouth. 

“Fuck, Rafe,” you half-laugh and half-moan, head falling against the deck. You chest heaves as you catch your breath. “This is embarrassing.”

“What?” He says, voice hushed, and presses a kiss to your mouth. “Being on the deck or how quick I can make you cum?” He grins. 

This time you can and do roll your eyes. 

“Both,” you sigh, legs falling to their place around his hips. You curl up into a sitting position and pet his arm, coming back to reality. He smells like sunshine. “But you still haven’t fucked me yet.”

Your fingers trail down to his jeans, fingertips ghosting over his zipper. He hums in agreement, eyes following. You play with the button for a second, just wanting to tease, but pop it and unzip the fly. 

“Wanna know what I’m thinking about?” You ask, reaching up his shirt to feel his hot skin. “That time on the beach,” you purr, voice hushed and eyes wild. 

“Yeah?” He bites his lip and sits back on his ass, taking you with him in his lap. Your knees bend and you sit comfortably on the seat that is only yours. “You thinking about my hand?”

“Mhm.” You lean and kiss at his cheek, trailing down to his jaw. “And something else.” You dig a hand down into his boxers and curl your fingers around his dick. 

He’s hot and almost slippery, so hard you’re sure it’s painful. Your wrist slides against the tip and his hand on your ass curls into a fist. 

You lean back, wanting to see his face, and watch as your touch washes over his body. He blinks rapidly, eyes focusing, and you smile sweetly. 

It’s then that you shift into your knees, hand squeezing his dick, and sink down onto him.

His fingers fly up to your strained face and grasp your neck, immediately tight around your throat. Not tight enough to suffocate, but tight enough for your pulse to quicken. 

Exactly what you’d imagined. 

“You like that?” He pants, breath fanning over your cheek when you turn slightly and grip his shoulder for stability. You just nod and circle your hips. 

His thumb on your chin guides your face back to his, wanting to see you fall apart, and you make a whiny noise. He feels where it starts and ends between his fingertips. 

You ride between the strain of his hand around your throat and the movement of his body, head tilted back and mouth wide. Your fingers grip his shoulder and bicep as you ride. 

It’s a difficult job, balancing the rhythm of your hips with the ache blooming from the muscles in your thighs, but you make it work. 

You hear the bashfully whiny groans he’s exhaling into your ear and you make it work. 

“You feel so good,” you whisper hoarsely as his hold tightens, chin tilting towards the sky. He grits his teeth and pushes his hips up into yours. 

You scramble to grab onto his forearm and hold back your shriek. 

The tightness of his fingers around your throat blur the lines of pleasure and pain, making it hard to catch a deep breath and ride him at the same time. 

“Fuck, harder,” he stutters, almost whispering, and you nod furiously. Your thighs meet his lap, over and over with a noise that makes you blush even more than you already are, and you’re sure you’ll have bruises or at the very least a red mark. 

He releases your throat and anchors himself with your hip and the small of your back, and when you finally gasp for air at the loss of his pressure on your neck he uses all his lower back strength to wedge himself deep into you. 

You know you’ll have bruises there. 

You push hard against his forearm as your back arches and the tension in your lower abdomen comes to a peak. Your toes curl where they are at his side.

Your vision comes in and out of focus as you cum again, blood white-hot in your veins. The climax is almost numbing. Addicting. 

At this point you have no idea the noises you’re making, probably all gibberish and definitely humiliating, but the rushing in your ears is too much. 

Rafe shudders and groans loudly into your ear, spending himself inside of you with a grunt, and you follow him as he falls back into the deck. You catch yourself with a palm on the sun scorched wood. 

“Jesus Christ,” he pants, heart pounding and chest heaving. Sweat coats his buzzed hair in a shiny sheen, and your whole body is so sticky you feel like you could peel the layer of perspiration off of your body. 

His hands still lazily hold your waist and they begin their ascent to your neck. He feels your pulse with the space between his thumb and forefinger, and his face splits into a grin at the feeling. 

“I definitely am going to need some food after this.” You push yourself back up into a sitting position and put your hands on your hips as you finally catch your breath. 

He looks so beautiful, half in the shade and half in the sun. Laid out beneath you. Still inside. Like some kind of god. 

The hot sun is in his eyes, and his body is numb with the tension spent in his muscles. Rafe half wonders if his dick is still fucking there. 

He barely feels when you crawl off of him and stumble into standing. He jerks up into a sitting position, that familiar ache in his back present, and grabs for your leg. He winces at the stretch. You should really be paying his chiropractor bill. 

“Where are you going?” He accuses, voice scratchy in his throat. 

“I need to shower, baby.” You bend to pick up your bikini bottoms. “We’re going to dinner, aren’t we?” You smile and turn back around to go inside, ass bare and a huge red mark in the shape of a large hand curved around the trunk of your throat. 

Yeah, drive-up it is.

[ronearoundblindly]

https://www.tiktok.com/@yeuyeutp/video/7417104012320754977?_t=8pwVPUhpxbq&_r=1

I thought this is so cute! Which Cevans characters are letting you swatch your makeup on them? I can already tell with characters like Lloyd, he’s gonna be like ‘fuck that shit’ 😭😂 Ransom is gonna whine like he always does for sure ‘Why are you putting this sparkly shit on me 😡🤬’

Link here. Sorry this took so long, but I finally got the inspiration to answer this one while sifting through asks! Warning for an f-bomb or two. No, it was not avoidable. We shall call this the "Black Friday Shopping Edition" of Who Would...

James Mace

Honestly finds it all useless and dumb. Thinks you're beautiful without all this sh*t on your face. Abhors glitter and will riot if you get it on him at any time. Rants about all the plastic packaging and how it's bad for the environment.

Curtis Everett

He cannot believe the prices. Curtis is incapable of walking around the store without pointing out this $25 thing that's--turns tube over--"POINT FIVE FLUID OUNCES?! Honey, just no."

You strategically stand in front of the $45 products while nudging him out of the store. Come back alone or with a friend. Curtis is not your man for this.

Jimmy Dobyne

Fucking no. Not for the same reasons as Mace and Curtis though. Jimmy thinks you look magnificent when you do your makeup (he doesn't prefer it, mind, but he appreciates the final result) but has zero interest in knowing how the sausage is made. You go shop. You take your time in the bathroom or at the mirror. He isn't there for those stages.

Johnny Storm

Antsy. Fiddles around testing out the skin and haircare stuff for men. Bit obsessed with colognes. Needs to know you're opinion on what suits him. He will let you swatch on his hand and arm but will not necessary stay put while you make your decisions. Possibly spends more money than you sometimes. Definitely tries new products more than you do, not really searching for his favorite or the best, just like new and is a product whore.

Jake Jensen

Jake, my beloved, is fascinated by the various textures and tries to spot the super subtle color differences. He's always genuine about which things he prefers--hates sticky textures--and wants you to feel as lovely as he finds you all the time. Jake will even clean up his arm then start over to swatch your top choices beside each other, remembering which brand and colors they were. He is wildly amused by the names of lipsticks and nail polishes specifically. He kinda wants that job.

Lloyd Hansen

Loudly announces what will make you look whorish, the asshole. Everything is described as looking nice while you cry from how good he's fucking you or looking hot smeared on your face and his dick. Doesn't give a shit about price or whatever; he's not paying for it.

Ari Levinson

He's distracted but around. Follows you casually. Will answer questions and give his opinion when prompted. Has too much hair to swatch on him though. Will randomly put his arm around your shoulders, kiss your temple, and say "whatever you want." Insists on paying, even if his eyes bug-out momentarily.

Ransom Drysdale

You are correct: he will not allow sparkly shit on his person. In fact, he's too bored to stick around when it's not him shopping. Ran is extremely vocal and particular about what looks great on you and what's meh. Refuses to let you buy the meh things. I will say, he is deeply appreciative of the final result. Loves when you are all dolled up and beaming happy. Doesn't show it really, but he's smug as hell with you on his arm looking so fine...

Andy Barber

He has opinions, but he is not a palette. Andy throws a wary glance your way when he notices the prices or that there are several of the same type of product in your basket. There are very rare instances where he's goofy and in the mood to be playful with you, so Andy has been known to put a vivid or dark shade of lipstick on himself when you're turned away and then play it off until you notice. He thinks it's utterly hilarious to smear it on you with kisses in those moment. Adorable jerk...

Steve Rogers

Everything is a palette, and all the colors remind him of some sort of art. I mean, this guy thinks you are art. Steve can't help but imagine what you're thinking of wearing with the makeup, he knows complimentary colors and shading, and he's the best of most worlds in this scenario.

Bucky Barnes

Buck gets an enormous kick out of this, really leans into his preening, theatrical side. Swatch all over him, he doesn't care. Bucky also will gently help you apply makeup, cupping your chin in his hand while gliding that lip gloss you're interested over your bottom lip. He mimics pressing and pouting so you spread it around. I mean...I don't know how this guy makes everything both loving and sensual but goddamn do I believe he does.

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; Who Would... Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[floret-affini-research]

RESEARCH LOG 009

RESEARCHER M. Florez

AUDIO FILE DETECTED, LOADING TRANSCRIPT...

"There, it's on. I don't understand why you wish for our final correspondence to be recorded in this way, but once we finish here, I am departing."

Thank you for respecting one last wish my little researcher.

"Not yours, so stop saying that already. Anyway, what is it you wanna say?"

Well, I just wish to tell you how wonderful it has been to have you here in my lovely home. You've been so very kind to my dear Marianna, and you have truly brought a wonderful joy to us both.

"Th-thanks I guess. I will admit, it has not been unpleasant to be here, as I know you have done your best to both provide information for my research and allow me comforts while I have been here. However, I hope you do understand why I must take my leave."

I'm afraid I still don't quite understand. I truly do feel that I could make you feel wonderful and comfortable here.

"W-well, you did a decent job. But I cannot ignore the fact that you hid information from me regarding biorhythms. Important information."

Would it really have changed so much if I had told you?

"Of course it would! I wouldn't have stayed so long if I knew the risks I know now. It's dangerous for my research."

But wouldn't that mean you would have learned so much less? If I had told you on the first day of your arrival about the biorhythms, you probably would have left immediately and not learned anything significant about the Affini.

"W-well-! I-I probably would've still learned something or other..."

But you would not know nearly as much.

"...I guess."

And besides, I'm not the only one who's withholding important information from you~

"...what're you talking about? This better now be another trick you have to brainwash me!"

Oh ho no no, it's that you're hiding something from yourself~

"N-no I'm not!"

Oh? Would you like to put that to the test?

"H-how would you even know huh?! Just gonna ask me random things and trust my word?!"

Well, there is one way~ You see, one of the xenodrugs we are able to produce causes sophonts to be unable to lie to anyone, even themselves~

"I-I am not letting you inject me ever again!"

Please? This will truly be my final request for you~ I'll only ask one question to you under the effects of the Class-D's and then you are free to leave~

"...th-that's all I have to do and then you'll let me go?"

Of course, and I shall promise to keep my word~

"...fine, just hurry up with it..."

Perfect~ Now just hold still and let it course through you, it will only take a few seconds~"

"...can you just hurry up please? I must leave as soon as possible."

Of course, just a question first~ Now, tell me, do you have to leave at all?~

"Of course not, I'd much rather stay here for the rest of my days continuing my research with Marianna and Mistre- W-wait, what?"

Oh? Go ahead, continue speaking~ You look so cute and flustered~

"Y-y-you can't m-make me! I-I am a terran who wants to be a good pe- I-I mean I am not an indepe- W-what is happening!?"

That would be the Class-D's in your system~ I told you, they don't allow you to lie~

"H-how dare you!? This is exactly what I wante- I-I can just let myself speak freely without having to thi- J-just stop!"

Hmm, I think I'll go ahead an allow you to speak as you wish again, but only if you answer one more little question~

"...what is it?"

Do you want to stay here with me~

"..."

Well?~

"...yes..."

Yes what?~

"...yes Mistress..."

Good girl~

"...T-terminate audio recording..."

[jejebean]

In a Crowd of Thousands

Gojo x F!Reader || A Bridgerton / Regency Era AU ♔

Inspired by this song from Anastasia

A displaced princess taking refuge in a foreign land, and a Duke with manners unbefitting his station. While one of you cannot afford to tempt scandal, the other relishes it. Your paths crossed on a fated Summer's day long ago. Forgotten in the whirlwind of time, yet haunted, by your smile, by his eyes.

Content Warning: Reader's traumatic past, anxiety, unhealthy coping mechanism, Gojo's rakish behaviour.

Your POV

In the heat of June, the city is buzzing with anticipation and excitement. It seems like almost everyone has gathered by the harbour, to get a glimpse of the rumored princess.

“No, not princess anymore, surely.” 

“A refugee, a foundling, fortunate enough to have relatives still in our peaceful country.”

“She’s lucky to be here. I heard her entire family was slaughtered.”

“She’ll hear you!”

“Does she even speak our language?”

“She must. If she’s going to live here now.”

You can hear the sharp comments here and there, barely audible amongst the cheer of the crowd. A welcoming parade they call it. It doesn’t feel so welcoming with everyone questioning your position or lack thereof. But you the know rules. You sit straight in your gilded carriage, eyes forward, trying your hardest to not let your emotions show.

Barely eight, you are the only survivor of your family. It all feels so surreal. Just months ago, you were gathering spring flowers in your vast garden. In the blink of an eye, you’ve been shipped to a foreign land, with foreign customs, and now in the care of a distant cousin you’ve never seen before. Here, you have to start anew.

Gojo’s POV

“What do you mean we’re not going? It’s all everyone’s been talking about!”

Stomping his feet in protest, Gojo Satoru demands an answer from his household staff, who has all but barricaded the young boy in the manor. “Young master, please. Your father has left us strict instructions to keep you focused on your studies today.”

“But there is going to be a parade! Ijichi, please!”

“Young Master. It is improper for a gentleman to gawk at the misfortune of a peer so publicly. You must remember your family’s position, and behave accordingly.”

The butler is no stranger to the stubborn nature of the boy. Handling his every whim, however, has proven to be an ever-evolving task.

“I simply wanted to see what the fuss is all about. You know they call her a princess without a home.”

“And this is precisely why you’re staying at home.” He sighed. ”With the war still going on in the continent, many more will come, young master. Should you learn to behave by then, you might be permitted to…observe the next one.”

The young boy scoffs.

“We shall see about that.”

…

Your POV

As the carriage pulls further and further into the city, you begin to question if there is an end to this ordeal. An endless stream of people pours out onto the streets, to get a good look at the little foreign noble who has lost everything. It is getting harder and harder to hold your head up and your face straight. And as exhaustion starts to take hold, you hear a small commotion in the crowd.

Fear and panic begin to grow in your chest, as the worst possibilities play out in your mind. Is it them? The people who have taken your family. Have they come to finish the job? You ball your hands into fists in your lap, clutching at the fabric of the borrowed gown, trembling.

There are guards stationed, separating the carriage and the crowds, but you could see a small figure weaving and dodging in between. The culprit stumbles onto the street, nearly colliding with the carriage and startling the hoses to a stop. It was all too sudden, and you feel your heart in your throat.

You can now see that it is merely a boy, not much older than you are. Dressed in rags, with half his face covered by a newsboy’s hat a little too big, and him struggling to keep it on.

The shock took you off guard, and for a second, it felt as though time was standing still.

As the boy looks up, your eyes are met with the most dazzling blue. Gleaming in the sun like beautiful jewels —a pair of aquamarine, wide and slightly bewildered. You begin to relax, not noticing that you have been holding your breath the entire time. Ever so slightly, you felt your stony features soften into a smile for this strange boy.

…

As the morning light peers through the curtains, you awoke from a distant dream that quickly faded. Ten long years has since passed, and it feels like a different lifetime.

It was finally the day of your presentation.

The day for you to finally repay the kindness of your newfound family.

You are determined to make them proud. Although the Kamo house is considered one of the most ancient and prominent of bloodlines, it has been plagued relentlessly by scandals. You have since learned that bringing you in as a ‘rescue’ was the late Earl’s way of rebuilding his societal image.

Still, the reason holds no significance. You are duty-bound to marry well and ‘fix’ the family’s standing.

You shake your head to clear your mind of sleep and the memory of your first day. You haven’t spared a single thought to it in a long time. Why now?

A new life, a new name, a new family.

A brand new start.

“It matters not. Today, I must be perfect.”

…

Little did you know that on the other side of town, the very same dream rings clear in the mind of a certain young man.

…

The parade traveled on,

With the sun in my eyes, you were gone.

But I knew even then,

In a crowd of thousands,

I’d find you again.

...

Thank you for reading!

A/N: Choso will play a big part in this, like a brother figure (think Anthony but a little less frustrating.) I currently don't have a beta/editor for my stories, and since English is not my first language please excuse the mistakes that might appear. I'll keep trying my best to minimize them and get better! ♡ See you in the next one!

[artist-issues]

Was wondering what your take on this was. I have a Christian friend who's very anti-media, like he never listens to non-Christian music (even then enacting limits on the artists) and he believes all films are evil and stuff like that.

I believe his rationale is that it's all anti-Christian, making arguments like "Thanos is a representation of God in the book of Revelation and the film is therefore about killing God" or "Superman isn't a Christ-like figure; he's an antichrist figure because he points people's attention away from Jesus, the real Christ," and stuff like that.

Speaking as a Christian myself, I feel like that's a very extreme take to have when stories can always have Christian values to identify and distinguish and that even if he was right, it does no good to isolate yourself from those stories or to assume the worst faith interpretation of them.

Anyway, I was wondering if you had any thoughts on the subject. I know well from some of your posts especially that there are stories with very unhelpful or anti-Christian messages baked into them, but should we not still give those stories a chance? And is there not a much more forgiving line to draw before that point? If a story isn't directly and explicitly about the direct and explicit Christ, does it have any value?

Well. I had a friend who was kind of like that, too, and over the years he’s softened up on that a lot. Sometimes people get really zealous and have these extreme convictions and it’s okay, if they’re really doing it because they genuinely read Scripture with a heart to do what God wants, not a heart to find a set of rules they can follow and find self-righteousness.

I think there’s two separate ways to answer this ask. One is:

How to Treat Your Brother in Christ Over This

which is the most important part, for you, like it was for me with my friend, personally.

In 2 Corinthians 10 Paul is talking about this with meat sacrificed to idols. Technically, you’re free to eat that, even though to non-believers it means something else. Because to you, a Christian, you’re not under the old Law, so it’s not a condemnable thing to take what non-believers are using for evil and just…eat it. For what good there is in it. Because it’s meat. So there is some good in it, and you’re technically free to enjoy that good. But this is what the Word of God says:

1 Corinthians 10:19–33 - What do I mean then? That a thing sacrificed to idols is anything, or that an idol is anything? No, but I say that the things which the Gentiles sacrifice, they sacrifice to demons and not to God. And I do not want you to become sharers in demons.

You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons. You cannot partake of the table of the Lord and the table of demons. Or do we provoke the Lord to jealousy? Are we stronger than He?

All things are lawful, but not all things are profitable. All things are lawful, but not all things build up. Let no one seek his own good, but that of the other person. Eat anything that is sold in the meat market without asking questions for conscience’ sake. For the earth is the Lord’s, as well as its fullness.

If one of the unbelievers invites you and you want to go, eat anything that is set before you without asking questions for conscience’ sake. But if anyone says to you, “This is meat consecrated to idols,” do not eat it, for the sake of the one who informed you, and for conscience’ sake. I do not mean your own conscience, but the other person’s. For why is my freedom judged by another’s conscience? 30 If I partake with gratefulness, why am I slandered concerning that for which I give thanks?

Whether, then, you eat or drink or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.

Give no offense either to Jews or to Greeks or to the church of God; just as I also please all men in all things, not seeking my own profit but the profit of the many, so that they may be saved.

Paul also says, in Romans, “But whoever has doubts is condemned if he eats, because the eating is not from faith. For whatever does not proceed from faith is sin.”

(emphasis added)

The idea is, your convictions should be in place because of faith. So if, in Scripture, your friend is finding something that makes him feel convicted that watching these movies is sinful or distracting from Christ, and he really believes that’s how Scripture should be applied—this is one of those areas where you just shrug and be gracious and say, “he’s trying to act in faith.” It would be different if Scripture clearly taught about movies or even characters. You could point to a verse and say, “dude, you’re misinterpreting Scripture,” but this is one of those areas where God left it up to our convictions. So we have to respond in grace, even if what bothers another believer doesn’t bother us, because it’s not a “hill to die on.”

You can only control you. So obey God in how to respond to him, even if you don’t agree, and put him before you. If he won’t watch a Superman movie and it bothers him, don’t talk about Superman around him. Don’t invite him to movies like that. Consider him more important than yourself. If he can’t be convinced from Scripture that he’s free to watch that stuff and enjoy that stuff, don’t try and convince him. Just put his conscience in front of your preference for movies, on your list of priorities.

Maybe he is turning a grey-area into an area for self-righteousness. Or, maybe he is trying to live out his faith, even if it’s “extreme.” But the point is, you don’t know, and you don’t get to know. Only God knows. You just get to decide how to treat him.

BUT! I bet you’re already doing all that. I bet you already knew all that. And what you asked me was “And is there not a much more forgiving line to draw before that point? If a story isn't directly and explicitly about the direct and explicit Christ, does it have any value?”

So Part 2:

What I Think/My Convictions on the Gray Area of Valuable Stories

Stories can have Christian values if there is anything “Good” represented in them. It can also have Christian values if there is anything “Evil” in them. There is no such thing as “good” or “evil” in a movie like The Joker. So that movie I would say has zero Christian values. They don’t call what is evil “evil,” and they don’t call what is good “good” in that story. So I’m just agreeing with you that not every story or every piece of media has a “nugget of something Christian” that you can pull out. Only in one sense do all stories have a grain of God in them, and that sense is, “it’s a story.” The same way you can speak blasphemies, because God created the tongue and invented language and communication—that doesn’t mean He’s in any way reflected or has anything to do with your blasphemies. But you wouldn’t say, “we should at least let the blaspheming guy keep talking, because God invented talking.” God invented stories and storytelling. That doesn’t make all stories worth a chance. If that makes sense.

Anyway.

That being said, I do think it is rare for you to be able to decide that’s worth giving a chance… until you give it a chance. ^^ Like, I watched The Joker. Now I know it’s godless. So I won’t be seeing the sequel.

The main answer to this is: yes. I believe there is value in a story that is not directly and explicitly about the direct and explicit Christ. And here’s why, are you ready, here’s the reason I’m convinced, here’s the best card to play:

JESUS TOLD STORIES THAT WERE NOT DIRECTLY OR EXPLICITLY ABOUT HIS DIRECT AND EXPLICIT SELF.

The parable of the Good Samaritan is not about Jesus. You could make an argument that it’s got some Jesus-imagery mixed into the Samaritan character because of how selflessly and thoroughly he cares for others even though Jesus specifically framed the story like it was the answer to the question “who is my neighbor?” and it’s about “what a good neighbor is.” But hey, if you’re arguing, then guess what, it’s not very direct or explicit, is it?

Because that’s how stories work.

If I weren’t advocating for treating your brother in Christ with grace, if I were in my flesh right now, I’d say, “ask your friend if every conversation he has is directly and explicitly about the direct and explicit Christ. Is every single word “Jesus?” Is every single sentence about Jesus? Would you say all your communication is focused on Jesus 100% explicitly & directly? No? Then why does a storyteller’s communication have to be?”

Because that’s what a story is. It’s a uniquely compelling medium of communication. But it’s communication, that’s it.

I mean you know my understanding of stories. Stories are meant to be signposts that point you back to truth when you’ve wandered. Stories are meant to be a way for you to escape the specific imprisonment of bad ideas and lost wanderings, and you’re specifically escaping TO HOME: which is truth. Good ideas, and truth.

Well guess what? Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. Every good and perfect thing is from above, coming down from the Father of Lights. If there is anything good, anything worthy of praise, anything excellent—we’re supposed to be thinking on those things, and associating them with Christ.

It’s almost short-changing Jesus or His relevance to say, “yeah there can be truth in stories but that truth doesn’t have anything to do with Jesus so it’s not worth my time.” What are you saying? He is the embodiment of Truth. If it’s true, then it’s His. In that sense. If it’s Loving, then it’s His. The idea of self-sacrifice, love, good triumphing over evil, truth triumphing over twisted-truth, is to do with Christ, because He invented those things and He’s their source.

My pastor likes to call this “plundering the Egyptians,” or “the world is tripping and stumbling into Biblical truths all the time.” They might not believe in Jesus but their story wouldn’t have anything worthwhile in it without Him. The writer of Beauty & the Beast might not be connecting self-sacrificial love to Jesus when she characterizes Belle, but guess what, she can’t escape it. Just because she didn’t make the connection doesn’t mean it’s not connected. You can’t say that all good and true things, even coming out of the foul mouths of humans, are no longer good and true simply because of the state of the mouths they come out of. Goodness and Truth is goodness and truth, and our brokenness can’t blot it out or stain it or ruin it. If it’s in the story, and it’s good and true, it’s good and true. Regardless of who we are or whether or not we attribute it to it’s proper Source.

Also, look at all of History. Jesus is woven symbolically throughout all of it, but He doesn’t “directly and explicitly” write Himself into the story of the world until the First Century.

But He was telling stories that had pieces of Himself and the truth before that. And He’s been telling them after that.

The Global Flood? Mankind is so wicked that God utterly destroys them—but He saves a small handful of righteous with a Vessel that only has ONE DOOR that they CANNOT SHUT THEMSELVES? That’s a story about Jesus. It’s not “direct or explicit.” God wrote it, that’s called “reality.”

The lamb in the Garden? Adam and Eve have something perfect and wonderful, and they can be exactly who they are and who they were made to be, but then they ruin it with sin, so God makes a way for them to be covered and protected—but it’s with the sacrifice of a Lamb? That’s a story about Jesus. It’s not “direct or explicit.” But God wrote it into reality.

Caterpillars? Into butterflies?? God invented a creature that starts out as a low worm in the dirt, then it goes into a tomb-like, death-like sleep and emerges a new creation that is beautiful and flies? That’s a story about Jesus, I don’t care, it’s not “direct or explicit” but it’s what God wrote into reality.

If it’s true and good, then the good and the true parts are connected to Christ. And it would be cheating myself of more ways to consider where goodness and truth and beauty come from to say that His direct and explicit incarnation in human flesh 2000 years ago was the only way I’m allowed to be reminded of Him.

I would never say any of this to your friend unless they asked. Because it’s not gracious to slam your friend over something that Scripture is not directly commanding, one way or the other, about.

[sgiandubh]

Hi, I don't know if you understand me or go through this, I would like to know your feeling about it.

After all this circus (which I can't take anymore and after a few years in the fandom) I can't stand Caitríona anymore. I swear I try, I swear I try to get excited about her projects. I swear I try to understand her reasons, her anger, her antipathy towards us all these years. For a long time I managed to suppress this sad feeling I feel for her, but now it screams. I can not anymore.

On the other hand, I still support Sam, even more than I should, because he, along with her, plays the main role in the narrative and is not a saint. I think these feelings would be the signal to leave the ship. I no longer admire her, I no longer miss her, at least on social media, I no longer even want to see her face.

I feel bad for feeling this way, I don't know what to do. Have you ever felt like that? And before you start offending me, I'll tell you: I'm not anti, only or whatever. I am someone who paid a lot of attention to this narrative and ended up hurt, very hurt by them, by her specially…

Dear Feel Bad Anon,

I was just about to go to bed after a very, very long and dense day, but your question stopped me in my tracks. Story of my life, really: that banging on the dorm's door at midnight ('it's vile X, we just broke up, help') - ah, the memories. So, I will not let you down.

First of all, thank you for this ask. It is a genuine one, I know it. It takes a lot of honesty to write it down without cackle, hysteria and the everlasting 'they owe me' refrain (no, they don't owe anybody anything, because, Anon, do you owe anybody anything when you are that much in love? I am sure you don't give a hoot about Aunt Y and Neighbor Z, Anon, and fuck them and their curiosity, eh?). And, my goodness, you really do sound exhausted, here.

Take a good look at this pic I took in Mandalay (see post below) of a Yama Zatdaw (Ramayana) puppet show:

All these public ten years are summed up in here: the puppeteers (TPTB), the puppets (S&C) and the convenient prop ( T) in the middle.

Where are the private ten years? I could think of this Amarapura pic, taken the day after the puppet show:

And that is ok, Anon. It's them. Their lives. Their love. We are just peepers through a keyhole, in here: let's try and do it gracefully.

You don't like C anymore? S couldn't give a damn about how you feel, Anon, and forgive me if I sound brutal. He loves her and he already did the unthinkable for her. C does give a damn about you, however. Not because she cares about you, but because she probably thinks your intelligence and your questioning endanger her narrative and put at risk all the negotiated perks. This is why she thought intelligent to bark at you and publicly insult you: by a simple zealot reflex, her part of the bargain. It has nothing to do with her private truth. You are disappointed by a puppet, not the real C. Or, using this time Plato's Allegory of the Cave, you are mad at the silhouettes reflected on the walls of that cave, not at the people whose reflections you see - those people are outside the cave.

Get out of that mental cave, Anon. Stop racking your brains off trying to give definitive answers that cannot be honestly given with the amount of information we have. Stop obsessing about a visibly curated social media presence, online times and all this shit - they mean very little, especially at this point in time. Trust your heart and your intuition. Trust your life experience. Trust yourself, not me. All this side of the fandom can offer you is based on our own life paths and street smarts. Do I think it's legit? Of course, otherwise I'd not be here or I'd be a pervert. Do I think that together we'd be a step closer to what really is? Oh, by all means. But you are the only sovereign master of the course, here. You are the only one able to choose between believing or rejecting, staying on deck or jumping ship.

I chose to be interested in the puppeteers, Anon. The paper trail. The minute intricacies. The boring details Mordor does not want to see or doesn't know how to translate in simple English. That is really what keeps me going and that is something I will never publicly trade. The more I look into it, the clearer the picture is. Oh, for sure, I take great pleasure in seeing and discussing the script inconsistencies - don't we all? But to me and as I see it, this is the tip of the iceberg. The bar I set myself for public happenings, statements and all the shit show is very low. It avoids undue disappointment and even allows me to be relaxed about it. Not always. Not a perfect strategy. But it is my way of managing it and so far, it works.

Take at least a day off Tumblr. Think of it as detox. I can guarantee you will see it way clearer. I wish you well, Anon. And I really hope my long, long answer helped at least a little bit.

[20dollarlolita]

Hi, I hope I didn't miss if this has been asked before. But I've owned two sewing machines now and can't seem to be able to fix the lower thread bird's nest problem no matter what I do on either of them. I've scoured youtube and tried every fix; kept thread tails long, adjusted tension based on fabric I'm sewing (used denim, t-shirt, or bedsheet cotton usually), changed needles, dusted the machine, the works, but no matter what I do I might be able to get through a couple of pieces of fabric before the tangling starts again. Is this a problem more common in cheap machines, maybe?

One has a metal case for lower thread bobbin that I can adjust but which I think gets too loose due to age almost immediately (mother's old machine of unknown brand, presumably lower-mid-tier when new), another was a $100 Brother on sale but new, that only has a plastic cover and no adjustable case.

The problem's at a point where I've lost all passion for sewing, dreading the next jam, just can't take the frustration and endless troubleshooting anymore. Would this be something more avoidable (using all the proper techniques) if I splurged for a better machine (though my max spending would be around $500)? Or am I just failing at something fundamental lmao.

What should I look out for in a new machine if I just want something basic that works without too much fiddling? Thanks so much if you take the time to answer!

I'm sure someone's told you to always thread the machine with the foot up, and then to put the foot down before using the needle threader?

We're going to break this into two answers, so skip down to the second heading if you're angry enough with your machine to throw it off a balcony and start over.

A) Troubleshooting very persistent bird nesting.

If everything looks absolutely miserable on the bottom, it's caused by there being very little or no tension on the top thread. I used to say "it's usually caused," but if there's big hairy loops of top thread that are tangling on the bottom, I've learned from experience that it is only caused by there being no tension on the top thread.

If it's just a little bit ugly, like you have eyelashing, then that could be a general tension issue, but if it's super ugly, it's a no-tension issue.

The question of why there is no tension can have several answers.

-When you put the foot down, the tension discs will close. If you thread the machine with the foot down, it's more likely that the thread will not go into the discs properly. You can test this by smoothly pulling some thread through your needle, and then (while still pulling) putting the foot down. If you feel that the thread catches or becomes harder to pull, then your thread is properly in your tension discs, and your discs are working correctly.

Another potential option would be tension unit breaking or going out of calibration. Unless you're working on a machine that's $1000+ dollars, your tension unit is going to be a couple of springs pushing on a plate. If something gets really loose, then the tension unit won't close when you put the foot down. On some machines (especially machines where the tension unit is a circle on the front of the machine) you can just open up the side and tighten a screw. On other machines, you need to take the top off and check if it's okay in there. While you're in there, you can...okay so I can't say "calibrate" your tension, because what you're going to do is better called "fuck with" your tension.

This is long so here's a cut:

Basically, there's an adjustment tool in a tension unit, which a technician can use to make sure that the proper tension is accomplished when the number on the tension dial says 4. It's a little gear with a stick on it. If you cannot get a decent tension by cranking your tension all the way up to 10, you can adjust the little stick on the gear to bring the default tension up. This will have the consequence of not knowing what number you just set the default tension to, but you can figure that out with trial and error and then stick a note on your machine that says "normal tension=6.5" and that's a lot cheaper than spending $200 to get a $100 machine serviced.

B) Just buying a new machine

Here's the thing: if you already are so frustrated with your machine that you don't want to sew anymore, you have a machine that's bad for you. Older and cheaper machines are prone to what my store's technicians refer to as "cascade failures", which is when all of the machine is between 45% and 90% broken. When you fix one part, it can last a very short time, and then another part will break. Pretty soon, you've put in enough money to buy a nice new machine, but you've paid the cost of a new machine and you're still sewing on a machine that's 45% broken.

If you're kind of handy and you don't mind occasionally opening up your machine and playing around with the internal parts to make it work better, then this might be a fun project. My store has a regular customer who has a borderline-nonfunctional Janome HD3000, and he really enjoys the process of figuring out how to make it work when something breaks. Apparently he used to be a helicopter mechanic in the army. Personally, I don't mind figuring out how to get one or two broken parts fixed. I have a machine where sometimes the stitch length goes screwy, and I have to 1) put the stitch length to 5, 2) flip it onto its back, and then 3) drop and then un-drop the feed teeth. I don't know why this works, but it does work, so I haven't gotten the machine serviced yet. But the vast majority of people who sew that I interact with just want a machine that works. They want to sew. They don't want to repair a machine.

So, if that's you, and you just want to sew when you want to sew and you want everything to do what you want, it's probably time to get a new machine.

A lot of people bring machines into my store to get serviced. Sometimes it's a machine that's not worth fixing. I can say that most of the "don't fix this, just replace it" machines that we see are either over the age of 25 years (and were not treated well in their youth), cheap Brother machines, and modern Singer machines of any price point. In terms of inexpensive machines, we sell a LOT of the Baby Lock Be Genuine collection, and we service a pretty small amount of the Baby Lock Be Genuine collection. We also have really good experiences with the mechanical Bernettes, the Janome HD line, and the Viking Emeralds.

For computerized machines, I'm very partial to the Janome QDC series. I have a machine from that series that I bought in 2009, got serviced twice in its life, and that is still going very strong.

I'm going to just spam some links here with a quick pro/con list. I'm not being paid to do this; it's just my own opinion based on what I know of the people who read this blog. However, if anyone is buying something from this site, please use PINK2 at checkout so that I get head pats from my company telling me I did a good job (it also saves you a little money).

C) Pink just lists sewing machines for 35 minutes:

Mechanicals: > Baby Lock Zest/Joy: These are two really popular basic machines that will be under $300. They don't have a ton of stitches, but they're all metal on the inside, and so they're going to last. I prefer the Joy over the Zest because of the stitch width option, but if you need the cheapest option, the Zest is the best cheap machine I know of in terms of life. > Baby Lock Zeal: As far as mechanicals, go, this one has all the features that are really necessary to be a full-fledged machine instead of a budget machine. > Bernette B33 and B35: These are basically the same features as the Zest and the Joy, with a couple of minor differences. These tend to be a little more expensive than the Zest and the Joy, but they're sometimes easier to locate if you want to shop local. > Janome HD3000 (white version) and HD 1000: These guys are tanks and feel very good to sew on. The 1000 has some stripped back features to get it in that price point, the same as the Joy and Zest do. The 3000 feels like it has all the features you'd expect from a mechanical machine. For some reason, a LOT of the HD3000 in the black colorway are trash. I believe Janome makes a HD5000 as well, but I don't remember if that's one that's weirdly bad like the black HD3000. I really don't know what's going on with that HD3000 black edition. > Viking Emerald 118: Personally, I think this is the best mechanical machine that's currently out there. They're powerful, last a long time, are fully featured, and are just good little guys. I have frustrations with their maker that I can't express publicly online, but the Emerald is good enough that I'll forgive it.

Side note: I have customers ask me "is it heavy duty?" which is a very vague question that doesn't actually mean anything. All of these machines can handle thick fabrics like denim. Machines with adjustable presser foot pressure (so not the Zeal, Joy, HD1000, B33, B35) will handle thick fabric better. That's what that adjustment is for. Every single one of these is more powerful than the Singer Heavy Duty line. Every single one of them had a metal internal frame, which is a big thing the Singer Heavy Duty will advertise. Every machine should sew through denim, and the fact that there's so many brand new out of the box machines on the market that won't sew through six layers of denim drives me ABSOLUTELY INSANE. It should be as absurd to have to ask "does it use thread?" as "does it sew heavy fabrics?" but instead we have to explain to people that yes, our sewing machines do the things that sewing machines should do, because there's so many reputable-looking brands putting our sewing machines that actually just can't sew.

Moving on: basic computerized machines

> A basic computerized machine has fewer complicated parts than a basic mechanical machine, meaning that if you do your normal expected maintenance, a basic computerized machine will last you longer than most mechanical machines. People don't like when I say that, but it's true.

Entry computerized machines that I like: > Janome QDC line: I have the precursor to the 3150 and it's a tank. Also you get push-to-cut, which is very nice. > Bernette B37 and B38: These have the same boards that the Janome 3150 and 4120 QDC have, but they've got some different bells and whistles. The 37 doesn't have push-to-cut, which is not a thing you miss if you've never had it. > Baby Lock Jubilant: This guy has a very nice needle threader but I find the dial on the front to be a clunky way of selecting a stitch. If the B37 is cheaper than the Jubilant, I'd pick it over the Jubilant. It's still a very good machine, and Baby Lock is relatively easy to buy online, so it might be more accessible.

If you woke up and decided you wanted to spend a lot on a sewing machine: >Baby Lock Brilliant: I prefer this over the one a step below it (the Presto II) because it's a lot easier to communicate with. A lot of Presto II's come in "broken" because the user changed a setting and didn't realize it, and the Brilliant actually tells you when you change a setting. > Viking Opal 690q: Unless you get a really good deal, I recommend the 690 over any other Opal. The features you get with it are very nice, and they don't come with the lower Opals > Bernina 335: You're not going to get build quality any better than a Bernina, but they come at a price. This guy is going to give you the same features as a much lower machine, but still run over $1000. They're very nice machines, though, so if you happen to win a lawsuit or something, you could spend your money on that. >Bernette B77 (or B79). The B77 has no right to have that many features at that price point. How did they do that? We just don't know. If you want this, subscribe to Bernina's sales info and to every sewing machine store you can, because it frequently goes on $999 promotion. And then screenshot the people offering it for $999 and ask me for my work email, and I'll match their price. I can match any price. It sure is nice to work for a company where I have that power. Anyway the B79 is the embroidery/sewing combo version of the B77, and it's an amazingly priced combo machine. This is useless if you're not interested in embroidery, but hey, thought I'd throw it out there.

And if you've stolen someone's credit card and you've got to use it on something before the police find you: > Brother 3100 is a very nice machine > Janome 9480 is very smooth to work on and basically reads your mind. The low bobbin sensor is good. > The Janome M6 is purple. > So is the Bernina 770 Kaffe Edition but that particular machine has a mysterious curse upon it so you probably actually want the 570 Kaffe Edition even though it's blue.

Thank you all for letting me vomit words for 90 minutes. Reminder that, while everything here I say is my own opinion that is not representing any company and is not endorsed by any company, if you want to support a small business in our fight against the big online sewing machine stores, you can click here and use PINK2 at checkout to save a little money and earn me some high fives from management. (If you want to go through the whole sales process and make sure you're getting the absolute best dead, I can also do that. Just message me off-anom to ask for my work email. The PINK2 code is for people like me who would rather save less money and get the thing Right Now and not have to talk to a human, rather than have to go through an online sales process).

[mediumgayitalian]

how do you have so many ideas constantly? i want to write more but i jus t dont really have a lot of ideas on what to write about and it stumps me a lot D:

well, partially because it consumes my life, but my real thing is dialogue and free writing tbh. i almost never have an actual plan when i start writing, i just pick a line to start with and go from there. i can do a little tutorial if that helps??

usually, i start with dialogue. my goal is to start with something interesting or dynamic enough to be read in a certain character’s voice, because that keeps people reading once it catches their eye. that’s why i don’t post titles or anything on my fics. dialogue is the easiest thing to start with, because it guarantees a second line — someone has to respond to that line. i might choose a first line that’s something like this:

“Woah, hey, I wanna try.”

now this can go ANYWHERE. very very open, but it does have restrictions: this dialogue tells us 1) the speaker is observing something, 2) they are observing someone else do it, 3) they are intrigued by the action, so 4) it must be kind of cool, and 5) they cannot yet do it, so 6) whoever they are observing might try and help them. i didn’t have to explain any of that, it’s inherent in the line, right? no matter what you imagine, those things hold up.

next is narrowing this down further. who is the speaker? who are they observing? what are they doing? where are they doing it? to some degree, you have total control here, but i find that in fanfic a lot of these questions are already answered for you. i’m writing solangelo fic, so this opening dialogue is likely from one of two characters (although, if i desired, i could totally go in a very different direction and choose someone else. adding more characters means a longer story, so if i was aiming for something longer, i would).

so who is more likely to be speaking this? who is more likely to speak up when they see something cool, and try it? who is more likely to be doing a cool new thing? to me, that solidifies the speaker as will pretty easily. great. now i have an opener from will, so i can work on nico’s response.

nico’s response can go a lot of ways, especially depending on the setting. if this is post-canon, it might be a little more relaxed, might be established relationship. when i read the dialogue in will’s voice, though, i did end up picturing a bit of a scene, and it went a very specific way. i’ll write some of it first and then explain what i did.

“Woah, hey, I wanna try.”

Nico startles at the voice, tiny bone falling from his hand and sinking back into the dirt.

“Aw.” Beat-up flip-flops slow to a stop right next to him, and Will plops himself down. He shoots a bright, too-wide smile in his direction, eyes crinkling. “Hi!”

“Hi,” Nico says warily, subtly inching away. Will, either oblivious or uncaring to his intention, just leans in closer, blue eyes watching him intently. “…What are you doing here?”

okay SO. with this alone, i’ve established both setting, some character info, and a good amount about their relationship, without stating too much outright. there’s some tension, right? a bit of imbalance! by making nico startle, a few more things become clear: 1) he was alone before Will came, 2) he was not expecting will to come, 3) he was probably no expecting anyone to come, 4) he was either focused or daydreaming, and 5) he is tense/uncomfortable enough to startle at a voice.

some of those questions are answered as the sentence goes on — he was playing around with a bone, probably a raised skeleton. not hard for him, so he was, probably, pretty spaced out. as the scene goes on, i make it clear that nico is absolutely not comfortable around will yet (although not so that he gets up and leaves entirely), so it’s pretty clear that this is right around the blood of olympus, after the three days. i also shove in some of my own small headcanons (like children of apollo being kind of off-putting to look at, too bright, like the sun) for funsies.

from there you can just go off. once you have a solid start like this, you can just write and see what comes up. maybe you like what you get, maybe you don’t! i’ll try and see.

“Woah, hey, I wanna try.”

Nico startles at the voice, tiny bone falling from his hand and sinking back into the dirt.

“Aw.” Beat-up flip-flops slow to a stop right next to him, and Will plops himself down. He shoots a bright, too-wide smile in his direction, eyes crinkling. “Hi!”

“Hi,” Nico says warily, subtly inching away. Will, either oblivious or uncaring to his intention, just leans in closer, blue eyes watching him intently. “…What are you doing here?”

“Hanging out with you. Duh. How did you do that?” He points to Nico’s hands.

Confused, Nico re-summons to the squirrel femur, dragging up the rest of the skeleton too. It chitters to life, nosing at the sliver of bare knee out from Nico’s ripped jeans, before bounding over to Will. He doesn’t even flinch, laughing as the little thing scampers up his arm and rests in his hair. Nico’s mouth twitches.

okay im gonna stop here because i ended up writing something decently solid and i want to post it lol. it spiralled & came pretty quickly!!

this is already way longer than i intended, and kind of rambly, so to answer your original question — i have so many ideas because i choose to. i make the active choice to write and post something every night before bed, regardless if i have something prepared. if i do — great! it can be a lot of fun to bring a scene from my head to life on paper. if not, it's still fun to watch a scene almost bring itself to life as i write. i promise that you just have to commit to doing it, commit to the actual act of writing, not writing something specifically. it gets way easier as you go on. when i first started doing this, two years ago for a different blog, i was writing things as short as 40 words. the skill came with practice, with heeding advice, with reading and analyzing what other writers do, but mostly with practice.

just write!! see what happens! and, of course, the best of luck to you!!

[ofmermaidstories]

(This is all about ''Something (just like this'' :], i apolagize in advance)

Theres an auther (you, i'm thinking of you) that has given sutch weight to the simple human pains everyone has, let them cary a greaf in every breath they're mentioned, i can't help but ache with the mc as one because i get it, i understand and even if i handn't felt the same pain that crushes your hope of ever being loved in the same way you do, if i hadn't though myself cynical and bitter the way she does i still think i'd get it.

I still think i'd be able to see myself cradle my heart like an infant, even though it's an old ugly, terrable creature.

The plots so ritch it's unbalivable that i get to read your works for free, like i knew it was her bestfried the second our artist glaced over her sholder and saw her drawing kids with guns in masks. But it was her best-fucking-fried, who dies without answering her livid questioning.

It's her constant self awair bitternes to the person she is that just-

Chefs fucking kiss.

Like the way she views herself and everyone else she thinks threatens the few things she sees as good in her with a sort of cynicalnes, but through herself that is bloody perfect.

Shes insane for the shit she pulls, Gods i love her.

I cannot expres enough of my love for the way you craft your words, the story and the way you put so mutch care into it makes me ill.

Izuku is caprured so well, his whole being being intertwined with Katsukies-....i am going feral as we speak.

Also her being an artist so acuretly presented, it's insane, the way she is about her skill, her talents, her works and her instuments and the way there are these little moments she wants to capture is so stupidly accurate to how i see the world as a creative. Always hungry and always craving to make, even when im no where near a peace of paper or even the shittiest of pens.

Im grinning and in fucking tears. (As i was writing all of this in my notes i wasn t even that far into the last chapter.)

Holy fuck, god i fucking despise Hana. And i get why, and im amazed at how her resoning, her pain and anger dosn't justify(?) shit when i've seen a lot of things where someones inhumane actions get swept under the rug cus they were hurting quietly, or something.

She was like a quirk nazi. Nothing redeams(?) that, y'know?

Auther i am shaking you by the sholders, and im sorry if my nails dig in too deep but holy fuck. Breathings hard, fic so good my rib cage has started to feel too small for my heart, and my lungs, and the hole your story has carved inbetween all of it.

Fic so good i haven't even gotten to the end and i want to thank you for, for all this has done to me. I'm shit with fics where there are a lot of words, no matter how mutch i love the characters and yet, and yet somehow this is one of the 100k + fanfics i have enjoyed every gut wrenching second of.

I feel like vomiting

In fact

I might.

They all need therapy after this, methinks.

(I know this is long and loopy, and my english (my second language) is not great, and that ultametly i kinda said nothing but i needed you to see (at least a little bit of) how insanely wonderful your craft is)

Anywho, i still haven't finished, and that was a lot of words, but i hope you have a lovely 24 h, i wish you the best with all of your future works. "Something (just like this)" has...given me brain damadge i'm guessing.

Blue, there is nothing to apologise for, I think you are wonderful. 🥺 You said everything. 🥺 From this message alone—from you taking the time to write it, and send it, I can tell you that there’s nothing about your heart that’s old or ugly or terrible. If anything, I think it’s golden—like the afternoon sun, reflecting all that good light back until it’s too much to hold. 🥹🫀✨

But okay, lemme try and do the thoughtfulness of this ask some justice. 🥹💕 God, to be honest I kinda worried about Hana, and her place in the story. Like—knowing how it was going to end. I think a lot of us will end up parting ways with people in our life that were important—and some, unfortunately, for ugly reasons. Hana’s betrayal is like, so extreme, so dramatic and terrible. And it doesn’t just hurt Reader, it hurt other people, kids. Like sure, Hana was hurt—but then she turned around and hurt others, willingly. And there’s no justice for the ones she directly affects. You’re right, Blue. You can’t redeem that—you can only pick up the pieces around it.

Tbh, I think Reader’s bitterness would’ve made building a life after it all that much harder, if it weren’t for other people. 🥹 Like—Scribbles cynical nature was such a fun part of writing the fic, lmao, and it absolutely would’ve made life that much harder for her in the aftermath if she didn’t have support. 🥹 I think someone like Scribbles, who barely trusts themselves, was a good match/contrast for Izuku who—like, even in canon is learning to overcome the worst of his most fear-driven habits. It gives him the ability to see Scribbles in a way that—that she needed. 🥺

Bluey!!! You’re an artist too??? Like our Reader. 🥹 The need to document everything is so real lmao. Like—it’s constant!! An insatiable way of looking at the world. 🥹 How do I capture this, how can I do this. I literally just had that feeling the other night, driving home under a perfectly straight trail of cloud like a comet’s tail. The sky was that perfect, indigo glow, and there was a single star alongside of it and it genuinely looked like the trail of a meteorite streaking over the sky and I wanted to remember everything about it. I wanted to draw it, write it, anything to keep it.

Blue, you have said so many kind things about my writing. 🥺 Either in this ask or in the tags of other things. And!!! It means so much to me, every time. 🥺 This is what I mean when I say you have a reflective, golden heart. 🥹💛🌿 I’m always going to be glad that like, I could write something that made you wanna reach out and say hello, lmao, but mostly I’m just glad you’re here. ☀️

(Also, as an aside—you mentioned a song, in the tags of one post a little while ago. I wanted you to know that I immediately ran to spotify to try and find it, lmao, and listen to it and like, now it lives in my likes and every time I listen to it I think of you and also of maybe trying to write a Bakugou worthy of the association, lmao. It’s such a sweet song, Blue, thank-you for the new music 🌷)

[vodkawriter]

AND FINALLY... not too happy with the result but I need to get this idea out of my head.

The one thing that Sam wanted, was to have one normal day. She loved the ghosts, but she needed a day off.

“Still hiding from the kids?” Jay asked with a smile while chopping some carrots.

“It’s not hiding if they know where I am” she answered returning the smile “now shut it, let me finish this before one of them barges in with a special request.”

“Hey Sam” Alberta crossed the wall to the kitchen, where Sam was typing on her laptop, attempting to finish an article about the latest scandal involving the Farnsby’s unpermitted pickleball court “there’s something wrong with Hetty and Trevor. Usually, Trevor is all about watching one of his movies at least once a day.”

“Okay? And that’s weird because?”

“Because he has been laying on the couch at the library and Hetty is also there, looking out of the window.” She replied giving Sam a pointed look.

“What is it? Update?” Jay asked leaning close to her.

“Apparently Alberta is worried because Trevor didn’t want to watch one of his rom-coms and he is at the library with Hetty just doing nothing.”

“That’s weird, ‘no pants’ is always up for a good 90’s rom-com.”

Sam did think that was weird, she got up and went to find them with Alberta following right behind. Jay shouting to ask her to inform him of the drama, later.

The blonde stopped short when she spotted a young girl at the front desk.

“Oh, hello there!” she greeted her potential guest “Welcome to the Woodstone B&B.”

The girl, who mustn’t have been more than sixteen, turned to look at her. Her auburn wavy hair was adorned with a headband that prevented it from going to her face, her blue eyes focused on her and a gentle smile graced her lips.

“Hello, I’d like a room, please”

“Um, you have to be at least eighteen for that” the blonde said.

“I just need a night, I promise I won’t cause any trouble” the girl insisted, looking at her pleadingly.

“I am so sorry, but I can’t. I could get into a lot of trouble if someone finds out.”

“No one will, I promise” oh those blue eyes were trouble “I just need to stay here for a night, it’s hard to explain but long story short, my parents lived here.”

“What? The only person who lived here was an old lady”

Flower, Sass, Isaac and Pete were watching everything from the stairs.

“According to a letter they left for me” she said while pulling out a letter from her backpack “she was gone for a whole year while they were here.”

Thor, Hetty and Trevor appeared right behind Alberta and just stared at the girl.

“You can read the letter” the red head said, giving her the letter.

Sam started reading and her eyes opened up in shock, she glanced at Trevor and Hetty and back to the letter. All the other ghosts were looking at them while whispering among themselves.

Dearest daughter, my sweet little princess:

It is with a heavy heart that we write you this letter, we know that you might have a thousand questions and no answers as to why we had to part from you. Unfortunately, we are not in the position to answer them, we cannot without sounding like two crazy people. There are a lot of uncertain things surrounding our goodbyes, but know this, the only certain thing we can and will always assure you is… that we love you very much.

One day, when you are older, we hope that you find the answers you may want at the only place we can think of: Woodstone Manor. We have been blessed with a year with the house to ourselves, the lady of the house having gone to another city.

Please, dear Haven, never forget that the hardest choice of our lives, was to give you up.

P.S: Please, I’m begging you to never date a guy, or at least to wait until you are like thirty or something. Dudes can be schmucks (I’d know because I am a dude).

P.S 2: Do not mind your father, he is a little protective right now. But as your mother I must warn you, no Irish men.

Love, your mother and father (H&T).

“This can’t be possible, right?” she asked around, eyes landing on the couple that were looking more and more captivated by the girl.

“What is it?” Jay said walking out of the kitchen, Sam gave him the letter and he looked as shocked as her after reading it. Looking at the girl then to Trevor and Hetty “HOW?”

“Samantha, I think it would be best if the girl is not here for this conversation” Hetty started, walking closer to the girl and looking at her as if she wanted to memorize every single detail “I know this must be shocking but we, all of us, haven’t told you about the last months of 2006.”

“Haven is my daughter” said Trevor stepping up next to the girl.

“And mine too” added Hetty with a small smile.

[thegamingcatmom]

I have been following your blog for a while and I gotta say it is 10/10, love all the content you do for the Denalis! Now I was wondering how would you think their whole relationship with MC would be if only one of them was the romantic option? How would the chosen one be with MC around the others? Would they tell her sisters about MC and the relationship? How would the other two behave? Would the sisterly relationship change somewhat? Would be MC as accepted?

I think I asked too many questions, sorry! Got a little excited, don't feel forced to reply all of them, thank you💙

Thank you so much for your words, they mean the world. ❤️🫶

Ohhh that´s an interesting one! And so bittersweet...

Okay so, right off the bat: MC would always be accepted, no matter which sister she chose. If the other two can´t have her as mate, then they´ll gladly take her as sister-in-law. I know people have different opinions on this because people have different ways to cope with things, but I like to believe the sisters are a package deal. If you got one of them, you got all of them. No matter which form. They got such a strong bond that I just can´t imagine any of them would just...bail out. No matter the pain it brings them from time to time, seeing their sister have what they cannot. But still-

MC in any form is preferable to not having her in their lives at all. Because that would mean having to live without her AND without the sister she chose. That´s not happening. Never.

I think that answers pretty much everything else:

.

.

.

How would the chosen one be with MC around the others?

Tbh? I think they´d be pretty...normal? Like, ofc they would never rub it in or anything. That´d just be cruel. And I think they´d make sure to keep it pretty much PG whenever the other two are present out of respect for their feelings. (Well, aside from a smooch or light PDA here and there because they are together, after all.) But like, it´s quite impossible for everyone involved to avoid certain situations because they all live together. They´re bound to bump into each other now and again, right? Best be adults about it. (Easier said than done, Ik.)

No but...none of them wants anyone to feel left out or like they´re not allowed to be somewhere in the house, yknow? At the end of the day, they´re family. As such, they will work it all out. It might take some time and feelings will very likely continue to get hurt, but they´ll get there. No doubt about it.

Would they tell her sisters about MC and the relationship?

Of course. This family doesn´t keep secrets. Also, as I said before, it´s kinda hard to avoid telling them when you´re living together. The truth always come out in the end, and it´s best if news spread from sister to sister(s) rather than the other two finding out in some other way. Like, imagine how hurt they´d feel. Not only because their own sister apparently didn´t trust them enough to tell them (with the bond they have? they´d feel utterly betrayed), but also because they´d probs see it as her trying to keep MC from them. Trying to hide her away out of fear/worry they would...what? Snatch her? Keep her for themselves? Harm her?? Never.

No matter how hard the truth might be to swallow, this is the only way this can work. Being honest with each other right from the start.

How would the other two behave?

Supportive, once things have cooled off somewhat.

I mean, ofc there´s gonna be tension at first. Awkward one because nobody really knows where to go from here or how to behave. How do you deal with pining after someone who chose your sister instead? I think there would be quite a bit of internal struggle, trying to prevent those intrusive thoughts from gaining the upper hand. Then there´d be long chats. Realllly long about the hows and the whys and, yknow, just hearing each other out, talking about their feelings, discussing what the next logical step could be. Communication is the key here.

I think each of them would need some time to come to terms with things. Getting some distance from everything to clear their heads, because we all know one should never act/make decisions in the heat of the moment.

But they will return. And when they do, it´ll (almost) be like nothing´s changed. The pain will still be there, and, some days, it might become unbearable to the point they´ll have to seek some alone time again. But the support will always be there. They´re still sisters and, as such, they only want what´s best for each other.

Besides, seeing their sister and MC so happy together...it actually helps...sometimes. It helps healing them, in a way.

Would the sisterly relationship change somewhat?

Hm, yes and no.

No because they´re still sisters. That doesn´t go away all of a sudden, especially not with a bond as strong as theirs. They know they can still absolutely rely on each other. The support for each other is as strong as ever. However-

Yes, but not in the way you might think. I feel like it´s just made them more...sensible? Like, they´ve had conversations they probs never expected to have, discussing things they never expected to discuss. I think that might just deepen the bond even further because there´s just a different kind of understanding that wasn´t there before. And, granted, perhaps it is an understanding neither of them wanted to have in the first place, but that doesn´t change the fact you can´t really help who you´re falling in love with. Everyone involved understands that, so they´re not gonna start blaming each other or pointing their fingers or anything. Never.

I mean, ofc they´re gonna have those days as well. Days where they just need a break, ASAP. Because even a vampire can only endure so much before it becomes too much. But I like to think they got their very own "signals" for that. Yknow, if someone has had enough for the day or just needs to be alone for a while, they´re gonna do the signal and everyone just knows. That works just fine for them. (The wonders of communication.)

Would MC be as accepted?

Yes, 100%.

(See all of the above.)

.

.

.

Thanks a lot for that very interesting ask! 💋

Also: Please never apologize for asking questions. Seeing ppl get so excited about this is what keeps me going, truly. So, please:

Ask away! 🙏❤️

[accioprocrastination]

One Day At A Time (Part 3/?)

Jake Seresin x Reader

A/N: More angst, ngl I was listening to Daylight by David Kushner when writing so this got away from me a bit wasn't expecting it to get this dark...

T/W: Anxiety, panic disorder, grief, PTSD, gun violence, torture, murder, prisoner of war, war crimes

Summary: Hangman's POW fiancée attempts a prison break; Javy talks Jake into doing something he doesn't want to do.

Masterlist

Jake POV -

Coyote can talk anyone into anything.

He's somehow convinced everyone to book the day after the mission off work to go to your place, not wanting his best friend to spend another one of your birthdays isolating himself.

Jake pulls up into the driveway and grabs the barbecue supplies from the back of the car before dumping them on the side in the kitchen.

"Wow, when we said let's go to Hangman's I wasn't expecting this." Rooster says entering the house with Phoenix, Bob and Fanboy in tow. All of them blatantly ignore Jake's tear-stained face and glance around in awe at the house.

"I'm not being funny but how on earth have you financed this?" Phoenix questions making Jake laugh. He cannot express the relief that her teasing makes him feel after a morning full of unease.

"Phoenix you cannot ask that!" Rooster gasps giving her a horrified look.

"This place was unbelievably gross when we bought it, It literally makes my skin crawl thinking about our first viewing... It was up for sale so cheap I knew there must've been a reason, other than it being close to base." Jake smiles, "there's no way in hell I would've bought this without Y/N walking around declaring what we should do to it." He elaborates, not having the vision to have done any of the renovation alone.

"Jesus he has a pool!" Fanboy shouts from the other side of the room as the others rush to the window to scrutinise outside. When everyone arrives Jake gives them a quick tour around the house to avoid anyone snooping without his knowledge.

He leaves Bradley to man the barbecue and heads inside to grab a beer. In doing so he watches Phoenix and Bob verbally dissect the photographs on the mantle.

"God she was gorgeous." Phoenix points out to no one in particular, tone sounding impressed that Jake managed to land you.

"She really was." Jake sighs looking at the photo of you at your backseaters wedding, grinning ear to ear at whatever he was saying to you.

God I miss you

"How did you two meet?" Bob queries, stopping Jake before he can spiral into his thoughts.

"Flight school... I wasn't paying attention to where I was walking, she literally knocked me clean off my feet day one. We started arguing and I just thought shit this is the girl version of me." He smirks as he answers.

"God I can't imagine there being two of you out in the world. How would we cope?" Payback winks, making Jake roll his eyes in response.

"Do you usually celebrate her birthday?" Bob asks not really knowing who Hangman is as a person outside of work.

Jake instantly shakes his head. "No she fucking hates -" he starts to answer swiftly cutting himself off. He ignores the bolt of heartache that threatens to shatter him as he realises he needs to correct himself, "-hated her birthday... She never wanted to celebrate it so we always just did something together without anyone else. I don't know why Javy's arranged this." Jake lies not completely oblivious to Coyote's attempt to force him to find closure.

He can't even argue that it's misguided. It's been years and he still needs to correct himself to past tense when talking about you.

Every time he comes home he half expects you to walk through the door after him.

Jake would never say it aloud but every time he comes home, he feels like he's waiting. Permanently waiting for you to get home too.

"You miss her a lot?" Bob continues trying to get a read on him.

Jake nods. "Every single day. She's my first thought when I wake up in the morning, and the last one before I go to sleep."

"Still?" Javy's worried disbelief comes from the doorway.

"Yeah." Jake's lip quivers slightly as he continues to stare at the photograph in Phoenix's hands.

I thought that this would get easier as time goes on - everyone says that - but every day I miss her more than yesterday.

Jake tears his eyes away from your photo and necks the rest of his beer in silence. All he can think about is how he'd give anything to not feel like this anymore.

Unable to shake the torment, Hangman slips out of the living room and heads back outside to argue with Bradshaw.

*

Reader POV -

You're shoved forward by a warden, collapsing onto your knees in the threshold of an outbuilding you've never been in before. Tears well in your eyes from the sheer force that your knees hit the concrete. The tears don't have a chance to fall, as the man hoists you upright forcing you inside.

Anxiety surges in your chest as you look up. You're greeted by blood splattered walls that instantly confirm your thoughts about this building.

This is where they kill people who are no longer useful to them.

You look over at Ghost hoping he will give you a look to convey that he has some form of grand plan for leaving this place. His golden skin looks ashy with sickness, sweat beads on his forehead, and his face is contorted in trepidation.

He doesn't have a plan. Neither of you have a plan.

It feels like someone has sat on your chest with how rapidly short your breathing is becoming, your apprehension is blossoming with every passing second spent in this building.

I do not want to die here.

You silently beg your backseater to look at you, as if meeting his gaze will prompt you to have some form of epiphany. His shoulders are hunched, eyes glued to the floor inaudibly accepting his fate.

He's been trying to convince you that you'll get out every day since you got here, you've told yourself every day that's not possible. Seeing him resigned to this reality sends adrenaline pounding through your body, you're not dying here at least not without a fight.

As the herding stops, you scour the room as best you can without moving, eyes flickering between all of the red covered rooms as you search for anything at all that you might be able to grab to attack the wardens with.

Fuck, this is hopeless.

We're as good as dead.

The rooms are almost completely empty.

There is nothing, not one single thing, here that we can use as a weapon, you realise.

Your thoughts of giving up are abruptly halted the millisecond after they form, as you watch the warden on your left shift his right arm towards a gun strapped to his waist. He's the prick who pushed you.

Somehow through the endless cries of the people around you, you hear the unmistakeable sound of gun safetys being removed. The fallacy that you've created of this place having some vague sense of security or solidarity among prisoners is shattered when the first round of gunfire begins.

You feel your stomach start to churn as people try to shield behind others. The sequential bout of nausea that washes over you is unignorable.

Your whole body traitorously reacts to the commotion, your rigid tension melting away to a whole body tremor. You've never been in the situation where you feel your knees shake with genuine well-placed terror before.

You've got to pull your shit together y/n. You mentally slap yourself trying to fight your inner anxiety away, needing to think rationally to decide your next move.

Without debating the consequences, you shove the warden next to you into the wall behind him with all the strength you can muster. He's thrown off guard, obviously not expecting any resistance. After his minute stumble allows you to take his weapon, he straightens up hand instantly moving to become a vice on your arm. He twists your arm in an attempt to throw you off balance. You do not shift even an inch, feet firmly planted on the ground. You're so deep in your fight or flight response that you barely even feel the motion that you expected to floor you.

The wardens are so focused on obliterating prisoners that they don't recognise the screams of their own as out of the ordinary, so you continue resisting.

When all of the wardens are down, you allow yourself to properly glance around the prisoners in the room.

Everyone looks broken beyond repair, most of them are bleeding.

Even if you got everyone out, you're not sure who among you is strong enough to live with this.

Ghost looks like a shell of himself

Ignoring that thought, you turn your attention to him, "I want to go home" you state croakily, arms still shaking as you lower the gun.

"There's no way out of here." Ghost reiterates, agitation plaguing his voice. It took the two of you, four days of recon to figure that escape was not at all possible from where they keep normal prisoners.

"Listen to your boyfriend Miss America." One of the wardens chuckles from his place on the floor, momentarily pulling your focus to watch him hold pressure on the bullet wound on his leg.

"Then we die trying." You instruct your back seater, before opening up your invite to everyone else.

A fail looking man that you bumped into earlier, shoves a boy in your direction quickly saying something to him in a language you don't understand.

There are kids here? A shudder runs through your body at the thought of children being exposed to this. No one should be exposed to this, especially not little kids.

The man turns to face you, opening his mouth to say something when a bullet rings out. You grab the kid shielding his eyes before he can see his potential father figure drop to the floor.

A warden sniggers from the floor as you stand glued to the spot in horror and disbelief that anyone would be that insanely cruel.

"Go." Someone chokes out, moving to shield you.

*************************************************************

Part 2 for those who missed it

Part 4

A/N: I promise I'll listen to something happier and write some fluff soon